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WOLF MOON 











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SOMEONE WAS COMING UP THE TRAIL 


[See Pg. 206] 








I 

WOLF MOON 

A Romance of the Great 
Southwest by 

JOSEPH J. 9UINN/ 


C over piece by 

gene: stone: 

J 

i Frontispiece by 

JAMES C. CONNERY 


OKLAHOMA CITY 

THE LITTLE FLOWER PRESS 

PUBLISHERS 





Copyright 1924 by Joseph J. Quinn 

All Rights Reserved 

Printed in the United States of America 


The Little Flower Pub. Co., Oklahoma City, Okla. 


JAN -5 7 ^ 

©C1A7GC641^ 

'V.Q -V 



CONTENTS 


I A Spectre in the Gloom_ 9 

II The Palmist’s Words_ 27 

III The Night Ride._ 43 

IV Indian or Gypsy?_ 57 

Y Liquid Gold_ 75 

VI A Warning from Tulane_ 91 

VII The Stumbling Figure_109 

VIII “Block the Gulch!”_124 

IX The Burden of Her Soul_138 

X The Stranger and the Storm_155 

XI Visions of Tragedy_169 

XII The Outbreak of the Beast_181 

XIII Prison Walls-194 

XIV The Gypsy Curse-207 

XV Mew Born to Greatness-219 

XVI A Secret of the Past_233 

XVII The Twilight Serenade_245 

XVIII Earth-Old Yet Ever New_259 





















FOREWORD 


Romance builds its altar in the hearts of us all and 
we worship there openly or in secret. We feed its fires 
with stories of love and adventure, of loss and gain, of 
gold and tears. No matter what the theme, we love its 
setting none the less , be it the frozen North or the 
Louisiana Gulf coast where in fancy one sees the fine 
flash i of roses and live oaks festooned with Spanish 
moss or hears the tumult of mocking bird voices, the 
rustle of palmetto leaves, the soft lilt of creole patois 
and the eternal chant of a fragrant sea over which 
gulls and pelicans poise in flight. 

This is a story \of Oklahoma, rich in oil and romance 
Its Indians have been sung and painted. I leave them 
to far more facile pens. In the following pages May 
be found a glimpse i of the Southwest, colorful, dom¬ 
inant, free. The gypsy characters have been taken 
from bands that camp in the river bottoms or pass 
along the hot, red, dusty road£, day by day, to God 
knows where. The range riders , More picturesque than 
last year because of encroaching modernism, were 
found in wide stretches where the merciless suns and 
parching winds drive back all but the fittest. Bottled 
up in the Southivest, since the days when Coronado 
sought the seven fabled cities, is romance enough to 
feed the heart of the world for years. And when it 
dies, the sun, the stars, the mesa and those peopling 
this vast empire will fashion more . 

J. J. Q. 

Oklahoma City, November, 1923. 



WOLF MOON 


Chapter I. 


’ECTRE IN THE GLOOM 

rain imps danced upon the yellow 
t. Nava rose from her sagging cot 
the first drops splashed and drum- 
i upon the canvas. At last the 
drought was broken. The great swirl¬ 
ing dust devils would fly no more. The camp 
could now move on from the shimmering prairie 
caps, cracked and blistered by untempered desert 
heat, on past the shrivelled skulls of corroded 
rocks pencilled to pastel shades by the everlast¬ 
ing beat of fiery suns, and on until the broad 
mesa, tranquil under the reign of a million star- 
thrown shadows, sweeps into view. The gypsy 
advanced to the opening, cupped her coppery 
hands and shouted: 

“ Bluebonnet.’ ’ 



1* 


[9] 










WOLF MOON 


The call floated clear upon the evening air. It 
lifted high over the sand hills burnt dry through 
countless torrid summers, up, up, across gaunt 
ridges and melted into nothingness out there 
where the beetling crags keep watch, as they 
have watched through ages of sunlit peace. 
Through the red and pearl and gray of fluted can¬ 
yons, where night had early trailed her dusky 
garments, the cry penetrated, and further to 
the crotches of the hills until lost in diminuendo 
whisper in the gulf of space beyond. 

‘ ‘ Bluebonnet! Bluebonnet! ’’ 

The cry rose sharper. A little woodland nymph 
hidden in a nearby grove started and gave 
answer. The call was as a sword-winged dart 
that cut her soul, crushed it with its import. She 
had heard it a thousand times before from those 
same lips and each time it had meant a bitter 
command to rise from the reverie into which she 
inevitably had fallen. She rebelled against it 
inwardly but what had rebellion meant but a 
resurgence of gusts of bitter passion? Tonight 
the feeling of repulsion toward the very word 
“gypsy” seemed nourished by the thought of 
what would transpire between the going down 
of the sun and its rising on the morrow. 

Bluebonnet was seized with a desire to tear 
herself aAvay forever from the summons of this 


[10] 


A SPECTRE IN THE GLOOM 


tyrant. It was as if she passed into a world of 
peace and happiness whenever she stole from 
the routine of the camp, as though she were 
driven through a roaring torrent one moment 
and then, in the next, drifting into the hush and 
calm of a broad expanse of river. Here in the 
grove life came to rest. In sunshine she could 
trace her fingers along the arabesques that 
shadows wove upon her dress. Then it always 
brought dreams, indistinct dreams of other days 
that she couldn’t quite bring forth from the 
world of phantasy into a realization of what they 
possibly could be. 

Her dream world shattered by the cry that 
came rushing over the shoulders of the ridge 
above, Bluebonnet arose, dipped her bucket into 
the cool water bubbling forth from leaves and 
dancing sand and started to mount the slope. 

Up near the crest light from the leaden sky 
was gradually receding. Bluebonnet gazed far 
into the distance, over and beyond the high caps 
that merged with the plains, gazed until she 
stumbled and sprawled among the leaves. Some¬ 
where out there in the hills Pemella, the gypsy 
chief, was coming toward her. And she, a frail, 
young thing, child-like, with a world of pleasure 
missed and a world of sorrow gained, would be 
his bride. 


[ii] 


WOLF MOON 


Pemella! The very word sent the thought of 
a viper rising to her weary brain. She beheld a 
vision of a copperhead with monstrous jaws, its 
black fangs darting in and out of an iron-edged 
mouth. She buried her face in the wet leaves, a 
thousand moods taking possession of her at once. 
Shame, fear, anger, disgust mounted in one full 
sweep to her mind and loosed tears from her eyes 
She would not, she could not marry Pemella. His 
dark, lowering eyes, with the faint glimmer of 
gloating behind them, shot deep into her soul 
whenever he spoke to her or laid his large rough 
hands like coils upon her. Bluebonnet pushed 
her wet face further into the leaves and wished 
that she could lie there until dawn, until a thou¬ 
sand dawns had come. Her wounded feelings, 
bruised in countless places, had narrowed her 
vision until she felt as if she were forever walk¬ 
ing in a cavern, groping, now driven, now led 
brusquely, her footing uncertain, her face bleed¬ 
ing, her hands filled with thorns. Life to her 
was only toil and torture and each night a wait 
for the coming dawn. 

“Bluebonnet!” 

The woodland nymph startled by the nearness 
of the cry looked up into the face of Nava. The 
muscles under the wrinkled skin of the gypsy 
queen were ironed, an ugly contortion worked 


[12] 


A SPECTRE IN THE GLOOM 


in her bulging neck. There was an intense show 
of indignation in her bloodshot eyes. Her lower 
jaw was caught up by its muscles until it closed 
like a steel safe. She crouched for a moment, 
brandished a large club over her head and with 
violent oath rushed forward. Bluebonnet crushed 
her face into the sand and dirt but the sharp, 
bruising blow she was expecting never fell. 

“Don’t Nava, Nava!” she screamed, her plea 
narrowing the eyes of the queen into knife-like 
slits. Her throat was dry, her body quivered in 
agony. But there came no hiss, no guttural 
harangue, furious and raging, from the queen. 
A moment of silence passed. Bluebonnet lifted 
her face and gazed up into Nava’s eyes. Into 
those wicked orbs had come a new light. Dark 
shadows seemed to leave. Their coal-black depths 
were filled with liquid merriment while a wan 
smile played across her face as sunlight in a 
dark canyon. But to Bluebonnet it was sickly. 
It reminded her of adobe walls under a high 
noon sun. It was ghastly because uncommon, 
weird because new. 

Nava shook her jet earrings as she pointed back 
to the tents and commanded: 

“Come to camp.” 

The huge, lumbering form of the gypsy ambled 
to the crest and disappeared over the ridge. Blue- 


[13] 


WOLF MOON 


bonnet followed sheepishly, her head throbbing 
with wonderment at the inexplicable action of 
the camp qneen. What did it fortell? Would it 
mean that her life of torture, of harrassed, haunt¬ 
ed existence was over? What did the coming of 
Pemella portend? Was she to be taken from the 
rack and her body freed from the pain of years? 
Never had she known Nava to drop a threat 
once goaded into fury. She felt that back of her 
action was a purpose she could not divine. Each 
step toward camp only increased her amazement. 

Arriving near the fire Bluebonnet set down her 
bucket and stirred the glowing ashes. She piled 
high the dry cottonwood until the flames leaped 
to the lowermost boughs of the overhanging trees. 
Great raindrops hissed upon the black pot. Nava 
had disappeared into the darkness of her tent. 

Everywhere there was hustle and excitement 
for the camp was in consternation over the return 
of Pemella. He had gone to Arizona a month 
before to attend a monster meeting of the gyp¬ 
sies near the border. Well-known in the South¬ 
west and Mexico his reputation had extended as 
far as Sinaloa. In some Spanish-speaking com¬ 
munities it was said he was a diviner or seer. 
Pemella had declared he would return to camp 
on the full moon of October. Tonight the moon 


A SPECTRE IN THE GLOOM 


was due to rise, round and golden, and Pemella 
kept his word. It was his law. 

Anemia that had blued the veins in the under 
parts of her arms poured into Bluebonnet’s spirit 
a desire to crawl away from camp to the high hills 
and sleep. Continual slavery in camp condemned 
her weakened body to nights of torture. And it 
was ever thus from the Dakotas to New Mexico, 
l^ow the camp was moving slowly southward for 
the winter but the furnace winds of Oklahoma 
imprisoned them until rain beat down the dust and 
sand and made traveling possible. For weeks the 
sun had shone from brassy skies, the wind driven 
from the Southwest unceasingly; everywhere were 
moving sheets of biting sand that stung the face 
and burned the earth into a huge brown puffball. 
Out on the plains the desert sun heated the ugly 
bodies of the tarantulas until they slipped under 
rocks to protect themselves from the rays; here in 
the cottonwood grove it had shriveled the leaves 
on the trees until at each flare of wind they 
crackled like high-pitched voices of ghosts. 

The burden of the world lay heavy on Blue¬ 
bonnet. There was no exuberance in her nature ; 
adversity had driven it from those barren shores. 
There was no smile upon her face for the tyranny 
of Nava had abraised it. She cried rather than 
laugh for a hundred tragedies arose each day to 


WOLF MOON 


draw tears from her. She was unhappy yet she 
had never known happiness. And all because Nava 
had early taken a dislike to her. Nava through 
her jealous eyes had seen the beauty that was to 
be in the child. She would have crushed it with 
her huge, horny hands had it not been for Pemella 
who was saving her for himself. He, too, saw in 
her face a comliness that could not be equalled 
in all the camps from Butte to Chihuahua. Her 
blue eyes, though ringed with circles of brown, 
had caught the color from desert skies; her tender 
mouth, twitching always when under command, 
was sweet though sensitive. Although the suns of 
the Southwest had poured color into her cheeks 
the trying, exhausting life in camp and the bru¬ 
tality of Nava had withdrawn it. Her appealing 
beauty had arrested Pemella’s attention even when 
she was a child but when childhood had given 
way to the bloom of womanhood he had felt him¬ 
self drawn toward her with a love that surprised 
him. Obsessed by the grace of her face and form, 
the tenderness of her expression, the appealing 
look in her eyes he consciously experienced an in¬ 
fatuation that strengthened and grew fibrous with 
each passing day. It sought out some weakness 
in her and that weakness was that she needed 
protection. From then on he became her protector. 
The cold-blooded ways of Nava met with rebuffs 


[16] 


A SPECTRE IN THE GLOOM 


and warnings that halted the gypsy queen and 
transformed her into a monster, reminding Blue¬ 
bonnet of nothing less than a giant horned toad. 
Pemella cursed her shyness yet blamed it all on 
Nava. The latter cowered glumly until Pemella 
had disappeared only to turn on her victim with 
increased fury. 

Thus Pemella worshipped at the tiny shrine he 
had built to her in his heart. He had become the 
gypsy chief when twenty-five years old upon the 
death of Guadalajara. Yet he was fitted for his post. 
The finely cut Grecian features, the deep set eyes, 
dark and penetrating under black brows, showed an 
unrelenting character. Gypsy-like he held to his 
purpose if that was gain. In his veins coursed 
the blood of a thousand nomads. Close-up he was 
Hungarian and spoke its gypsy dialect. Far-re¬ 
moved the nomadic races of India gave him his 
wandering desires and aversion to a fixed home. 

In the long silences of the night on their trips 
west to the Gulf of California Bluebonnet often 
started into wakefulness. Somewhere near camp 
a tinkle of a bell would tell of the lead horse 
grazing. At times a night bird screamed weirdly 
by. At others she could hear naught but the 
snoring of the gypsies. She had thought of es¬ 
cape often, had tried it once only to slink back 


[17] 


WOLF MOON 


to her cot as she perceived figures in the gloom. 
She felt that she was watched both night and day. 

In cursory analysis she often sought out the 
factor in this repugnance to gypsy life. She could 
not fathom the reason. In her heart rankled re¬ 
bellion which contrasted with the satisfaction of 
the other children. She firmly believed that she 
was not a gypsy. She had blue eyes; the others 
had black or brown. Her skin was whiter, her 
ways gentler. She felt that she must be different 
from the gypsies who snatched the warm bones 
from the improvised table and gnawed upon 
them for hours at a time. They could slumber in 
the hot sun, in rumbling wagons with only a sad¬ 
dle for a pillow. She worked from the moment 
that dawn came stealing over the hills until night 
grouped its shadows around the camp. As she 
grew older dark shadows crept into her eyes and 
the circles under them grew more pronounced. The 
routine was beginning to tear her apart from 
within, crush her slowly, perceptibly; it was drag¬ 
ging her down until her anemic form appeared as 
a spectre flitting through the brakes and dead- 
wood of the grove. 

Two looming phantoms stalked through her 
life—the tyrant Nava and her marriage to Pemella. 
Bluebonnet realized what the return of Pemella 
meant. On that dark gray day in September, when 


A SPECTRE IN THE GLOOM 


he left for Arizona, he had clasped her to him, 
crushed her lips to his and warned, ‘ 4 When 
I come back, be ready.” His kisses burnt her 
mouth like pressed hot steel and his words went 
deep until it seemed they seared her soul. She 
staggered back into her tent, reeled blindly ahd 
fell. A wild, fierce passion to hurt, to tear, to 
fling back upon him with intense fury tightened 
her will but she was powerless, subdued exteriorly. 

The threat that she had heard drummed into 
her ears was about to be fulfilled. Now she under¬ 
stood why Pemella had guarded her insanely, 
threatened death to the other men were they even 
to touch her. An evil design on the part of the 
slothful gypsy drones would have converted him 
into a furious, raging beast. His love for her was 
sensitive yet strong, born as it was under the 
parching suns of Summer and the ice of Winter. 
To him Bluebonnet was a flower that he guarded 
while near and dreamed of from afar. 

The thought of living with Pemella sent the 
blood sledging against the base of Bluebonnet’s 
brain. It would be impossible; she would rather 
crush her very life into nothingness, to die sudden¬ 
ly than live and be his bride. For she was a 
woman now with all the complexity of a woman’s 
heart. She could not understand the counter cur¬ 
rents of love for life and loathing for it, were she 


[19] 


WOLF MOON 


the gypsy’s bride. She knew that behind his smile 
to her was a scowling 1 , brutal nature. She had 
seen him rise as a volcano in action and storm 
through camp, wild-eyed, cursing, breaking that 
which met his grasp. Men ?ud women quailed in 
fear at his approach. During his spells even Nava 
avoided him for she avered that the god of fire 
came down and excited his being. Then at the 
sight of Bluebonnet he w^ould calm, his writhing 
muscles would quiet. She seemed to charm him 
yet she felt the time would come when she, too, 
would be caught up, shattered and cast aside. 

For some unknown reason he wished her to speak 
with him in a language unknown to Nava who, 
fired to revenge, set the dark and evil forces within 
her designing ways to torture the object of Pe- 
mella’s love. Their conversings in English were 
taken as plots to destroy her queenly reign. The 
books and magazines that Pemella brought for her 
to read were torn to a thousand pieces. From 
those that Bluebonnet saved she gleaned her in¬ 
formation of the doings of the world that moved 
far away from the drab little gypsy camp. 

The night of her marriage had come. The great 
day of dread was here. It had been looming long 
on the horizon of her life; now it overspread it 
like a net. The web that the spider had spun 
around her was as fine as gossamer, strong as ada- 


[20] 


A SPECTRE IN THE GLOOM 


mant, inevitable as fate. It was narrowing subtley 
and surely. There could be no escape. 

Sinister shadows crept down through the trees. 
Water dripped from the cottonwood leaves, 
dropped from the rim of the tents and ran in 
streams along the guy ropes to the ground. Red 
logs, spitting at each dash of rain, sent steam 
hurtling from the large iron kettle that contained 
food for the entire camp. One by one, boys 
straggled in from their depredations of the day 
and passed boisterously into the tents. A girl 
was gathering blankets hung from a rusty wire 
stretched between two wagons. Barefooted 
children pattered from one place to another, ran 
around wagon wheels and screeched to one an¬ 
other as they dodged between the taut ropes of 
the tents. Supper was waiting upon Pemella 
who was due on the evening train from Tucum- 
cari. The gypsy men had gone to meet him. 
Bluebonnet watched them as they silently left 
leading the horse that only Pemella mounted. 
His silvered saddle, too, was gone. 

A desperate resolve came to Bluebonnet. Why 
should she await the stroke of fate that lay 
before her? Something from within urged her 
to flee. But she recalled when little Nadina had 
attempted to escape close to Denver a few 
months before. Nava had almost beaten her to 


[21] 


WOLF MOON 


death. Nadina’s broken arm would always be a 
lesson. But the terror of the coming of Pemella, 
the realization that she would be forced to marry 
him, made her sink her face between her hands. 
She ran from her tent into the open only to see 
figures moving near the fire. Back near the 
wagons she heard a sound. She turned. Nava 
was gazing at her, a puzzled expression on her 
lowered face. Bluebonnet plunged back into her 
tent and staggered as if swooning. It would be 
impossible. She could not lift her hand without 
being seen. 

Far off in the distance sounded the whistle of 
the oncoming train. It echoed in her ears as if 
it were bearing dowp on her at full speed. Blue¬ 
bonnet, startled, looked up through the gloom 
of the tent. She felt that the same God who 
was sending the rain would bring deliverance 
from this fate. She could not wait much longer. 
Pemella would return in a few moments. From 
experience she knew that he would come to her 
tent a minute after his arrival, take her in his 
arms and kiss her upon the lips. A blind fury 
at the thought drenched her soul with disgust. 
But the actuality of the marriage itself would 
leave her broken as a wounded bird is left by 
the gunner. 


[22] 


A SPECTRE IN THE GLOOM 


Bluebonnet slipped to the front of the tent and 
peeped out. Near the fire several gypsies were 
moving. Voices mingled with the falling rain¬ 
drops from the trees. She watched for a moment. 
A spectre showed itself in the gloom near a clump 
of trees off to the left. Bluebonnet observed it 
move. It passed from one tree to the other, came 
nearer, receded and was swallowed up in the 
gloom. Could it be Nava? Did she surmise her 
intention? Had she the power of divination that 
she claimed? Bluebonnet thought not, for had 
she seen the picture of her frenzied brain she 
would have grasped her by the throat, her dark 
fingers would have sunk deeper and deeper. 
Bluebonnet dropped to the ground under the 
vividness of such a vision. A short, sharp cry 
escaped her throat. Forced imagination was 
driving her desperate. 

Another long-drawn blast announced that the 
train was coasting into the station. In an agony 
of shame she sprang to her feet. She must go 
now. She could stay no longer. Whatever the 
consequences they must be accepted. If death, 
then death would come as a sweet victory to her 
tired body and soul. Despair and abandon were 
driven against her in a mad rush. Gypsy life with 
its wandering from post to pillar and pillar to post 
must end. Hounded by the law, driven like disease 


[ 23 ] 


WOLF MOON 


and pestilence from the cities, she felt that gypsies 
were the scum of the earth, the jetsam of humanity 
that floated with the tides of adversity. 

The crisis came and demanded its answer. 
Must she face the love-frenzied gypsy or escappe? 
Must she flee now or marry him and live there 
with the gypsies until she broke down and died. 
The night under and beyond the trees looked 
dark but her soul was filled with a million dis¬ 
torted apparations, pitch black, now grovelling, 
again winging through space. The chains of her 
bondage were about to be broken. The nomadic 
life, not one mood of which she had ever assimi¬ 
lated, w r as to be thrown oft. She was to be free, 
free to glide away and live out there somewhere 
in the trackless, treeless country. A strange 
stimulus gripped her, stiffened her will until she 
stood erect. She would not face martyrdom. 
She would live. 

Indistince voices of women and children 
blended. At times they arose to a crescendo and 
died away to a whisper. Bluebonnet peered out 
to where the gypsies were moving. She heard 
someone stir back of the tent. Perhaps it was 
only the rising wind brushing the trees. Cauti¬ 
ously she dropped back to the center. A huge 
shadow of a man passed along the side of the 
canvas. It looked familiar. She crept to the 


A SPECTRE IN THE GLOOM 


flap and pulled it aside. A sweep of rain was 
driven against her face. Not two feet away from 
her was Pemella. He was standing, watching 
intently something near the fire. So close was 
he that she could have touched his shoulder. 
Then he recoiled a step and started toward the 
main tent. Bluebonnet watched him until the 
firelight flickered on a silver spangle of his hat. 
A guttural sound of surprise came from the dis¬ 
tance, a discord of voices, high pitched now, 
again low, mumbling. 

All of the power that she had summoned from 
within seemed to vanish. She felt her face with 
her fingers that were as long icy strands, chilled 
to the bone and stiff with fear. Like a cowering 
frightened animal before a beating storm she 
huddled in a heap near the opening, her body 
shaken with sobs. She closed her eyes for a 
moment. In the darkness instead of finding 
despair she was given quiet and peace, alluring 
inspiration. An inner voice was whispering to 
her softly but with persuasive blandishment. She 
rose and gripped her throat in desperation. 

A loud curse from Nava was followed by a 
string of oaths. It was Pemella’s tirade. A 
streak of light flashed through Bluebonnet’s 


WOLF MOON 


mind. It seemed to insulate her from the fear 
that gripped her heart. Before she knew it she 
had slipped out into the rain to meet the mys¬ 
teries of the night. 


Chapter II. 


THE PALMIST’S WORDS 

F AR out against a skyline of lightning- 
splashed clouds the Menhaden fishing boats 
dreamed lazily on their course. From off the sea 
came puffs of salty air filled with moisture. Great 
cotton-capped waves broke here and there, leav¬ 
ing a trace of silver on the water. It was sum¬ 
mer and summer at the seashore means lovliness. 

This was to be Jack Corcoran’s last day 
in sight of the old Atlantic. Through two short 
months he had disported at Cape May, had 
danced, swum, ridden horseback, played tennis, 
golf, whiled away hours that seemed to vanish 
with their coming. But now it was to end. His 
father had sent him to Cape May late in June 
to rest after a strenuous year at college. It was 
not altogether the realization of the work 
accomplished and the needed rest that made 
John Corcoran, Senior, decide to send Jack to 
the shore as usual but the remembered picture 


[ 27 ] 



WOLF MOON 


of him on that evening when he gracefully bowed 
to the audience in recognition of the applause 
accorded him when he received his sheepskin. 

After all there had not been many pleasures 
in the elder Corcoran’s life. He had had his 
alloted share of trouble. The bitter pang of 
losing his wife had been supplemented by early 
financial failures. Some great tornado of trouble 
that rushed across his soul uprooting all the 
tender fibres of hope in worldly happiness had 
caused him to move from Georgia to Philadel¬ 
phia some years before. 

He had looked forward to the graduation of 
his son from college as the great ambition of 
his life. Talking about it, dreaming about it, 
the thought was uppermost in his mind. It never 
left him. To close associates he unfolded his 
plans for his only son. He had always insisted, 
in a rather boastful way, that Jack must face 
the world, must become acquainted with its tur¬ 
bulent spirit, receive some of its knocks and 
scrape bottom on adversity for a year or two 
before he wbuld send him back to the University 
for his profession. 

Jack had never quite understood his father. 
He was aware that he had been moulded in the 
crucible of experience but the product ground in 
the mortar of hard knocks by the pestle of the 


[ 28 ] 


THE PALMIST’S WORDS 


ways of the world seemed too soft, too pliant, 
lie had the gentle nature of a woman with all 
her piety. Yet at times he threw off his mantle 
of suave gentleness and displayed the inner fires 
that had sent him hurtling to success in younger 
days. At these times he became transformed. It 
was as if he had tried to replace for Jack the 
mother who had died and the burden had become 
too great. But he had done his best. With a 
form of mother instinct he had shielded the grow¬ 
ing boy, had formed him on the anvil of his own 
experience and given him the benefit of the wis¬ 
dom that was his. 

Even on nights when the elder Corcoran had 
stormed into bed, the old being reasserting itself, 
Jack knew that on the morrow he would be as 
plastic as a child. Each morning before seven 
he watched his father slipping away to a little 
closeby church to pray before the Holy Taber¬ 
nacle. Down in his heart Jack wondered what 
was the compelling petition that his father laid 
before the Supreme Being. There was some 
great favor that God in his wisdom had never 
granted to his father, some desire that forced 
him each day in sunshine and storm to visit the 
little church. Could it be prayers for the de¬ 
parted soul of Jack’s mother? Or was it that 


WOLF MOON 


great event in his life that had driven him from 
Georgia to the North? 

Jack had often watched the restless spirit of 
his father when in recollective mood. Before 
the giant fireplace in winter or on the cool 
veranda in summer he saw the disturbance of 
some great memory as it swooped down on him 
from out of the past. A hasty stirring of his 
chair, a nervous clearing of throat were sure to 
be followed by a pacing to and fro, into the hall¬ 
way and back to the room, only to end with 
retiring from sight to his chamber. In all these 
seances with the past his lips moved as if in 
prayer, words were formed but never uttered. 

Jack regretted that summer had drawn to a 
close. Not only because it forced the severing 
of college friendships for the time being but 
because it meant parting for a while from Janet 
Hathaway. 

Janet had been Jack’s playmate ever since he 
could remember. They had sojourned each sum¬ 
mer season at Cape May, had played together on 
the beach with tiny buckets and later experi¬ 
enced childhood companionship give way to 
youthful affection. For the last summer or two 
an infatuation had developed, one that the elder 
Corcoran had observed with curiosity mingled 
with pride. Jack had selected Janet from the 


[ 30 ] 


THE PALMIST’S WORDS 


usual bevy of seashore girls for the simple reason 
that Janet had chosen him from the crowd of 
college youths. With the knowledge that Jack 
was about to leave on a long absence Janet found 
herself growing deeply in love. 

The summer seashore colony was in the midst 
of breaking in September. That accounts for the 
hastily arranged party one evening on the eve 
of Jack’s departure for the west. The farewell 
party turned out to be a mass of toasting marsh¬ 
mallows surrounded by a score of boys and girls, 
among whom Janet chose herself chief toaster. 

“Jack, do you know what’s rumored about 
you?” began Dave Thoburn who usually started 
and ended most party conversation. “I heard 
that you believed implicitly in everything that 
fortune teller told you on the boardwalk last 
night. ’ ’ 

“Not a chance,” responded Jack, his face light¬ 
ing into smiles. 

“Oh, this is news. What did she say, Jack?” 
cried Angela Boylan more eager than the rest. 

“That poor critter was just guessing. I never 
would have gone in there if it hadn’t been for 
Dave. We tossed up and, of course, I had to lose. 
But those gypsies don’t know any more about 
the future than a toadstool about astronomy.” 


[31] 


WOLF MOON 


“Well, what did she say anyway?” the party 
chorused. 

“Oh, she just said that I liked music. Anybody 
could have said that and that I was going out 
West and starve to death and a whole lot of 
balderdash on that order.’’ 

“No, she didn’t,” protested Dave, “She tolcl 
him that he was going to strike oil rich, clean up 
on the game, marry and—oh you tell ’em Jack.” 

“You continue, you’re getting along famously.” 

‘ ‘ Whom did she say you were going to marry ? ’ ’ 
queried Angela, throwing a sidelong glance at 
J anet. 

“Oh, no one in particular. I believe she said 
a girl with blue eyes, red hair and an Amazonian 
swagger. ’ ’ 

“Jack, you’re fibbing. If you don’t tell the 
stuff straight I’ll pitch in and do it for you,” 
offered Dave. 

“Go ahead, don’t stop for me.” 

Dave hesitated as if about to surrender a secret. 
“Well, she said Jack was to marry a girl born 
in the East but that he would marry in the West 
and during the Moon of Wolves.” 

“Moon of Wolves. How romantic! But what 
does it mean?” asked Angela. 

“Dog days,” suggested Dave, with a laugh, 
“Sort of late June bride and bridegroom I should 


[32] 


THE PALMIST’S WORDS 


say. But I’m wondering who this East and West 
girl is going to be. Probably some redskin maiden 
with a loud warhoop.” 

“Oh, lets cut out this talk about the old hag. 
That palmistry is the bunk, pure and simple. 
They can’t see farther than their noses unless its 
into your pocket.” Jack was evidently embar¬ 
rassed. 

“I think its rather nice to talk about sweet ro¬ 
mance, and warhooping maidens of the West. 
Don’t you boys? Lets talk about it all evening,” 
continued Dave with the intention of riling Jack. 

“Dave’s off as usual,” countered Jack slowly. 
“What do you say about taking a swim? Last 
man to the water is a jellyfish.” 

With a rush the seated circle broke. 

Jack and Janet swam together toward the moss- 
covered log that heaved with every wave. They 
rounded it and raced for the shore. The other 
bathers preceded them down toward the cottages 
that lay scattered along the Southern end of the 
cape. Jack walked slowly and with purpose for 
he intended his words to fall only on Janet’s ears. 

“My! Isn’t this a perfectly glorious night? 
I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow, ’ ’ began 
Janet. “Can’t you really postpone it just for 
a few days.” She was pleading into Jack’s face. 


1 


[33] 


WOLF MOON 


“Not now Janet. My ticket’s bought for Tulsa. 
Father wants me to show my worth, as he says. 
You know I’ll do my best in the oil lands. I may 
strike some money and then again I may strike 
only experience. That’s the chance I’m taking.” 

“But you must be careful in the oil fields. I 
once read an article that said these oil towns are 
the most horrible places imaginable They shoot 
and kill. And they attract people from all over 
the world. They must be lawless, too. You must 
promise me to be real careful Jack, will you?” 

“I’ll be careful. I suppose its like any other 
place, if you mind your own business they won’t 
molest you,” Jack replied. 

“But Jack, suppose you meet that girl whom 
the* gypsy fortune teller told you about?” The 
thought had been troubling Janet. 

“Keally, Janet, you don’t take any stock in 
what she said, do you? She declared the girl was 
born in the East. What would an Eastern girl 
be doing out there in the oil fields of Oklahoma? 
If you really wish and are in earnest about it I’ll 
make her prediction mean you. But, of course, 
I must have your permission. If you say ‘yes’ 
then I will have something to work for beside my 
financial future.” 

“If you feel like having her words come true, 
they will, won’t they Jack? You have my full 


[34] 


THE PALMIST’S WORDS 


permission. But remember you must work for 
a great big future for yourself, too. Don’t let 
me stand in your way. It would be silly for me 
to tell you to work when you are going out there 
heart and soul to make good.” 

“Work? Why I’ll show Dad that he has been 
at leisure ever since he left the cradle. And when 
I make good I’ll come back and we’ll stand here 
and watch those ships out there coasting along.” 
They turned. Balls and chains of fire raced 
down from the sky and played below the waves. 
Pin points of light dotted the horizon—pilots for 
ships that passed in the night. The plangent 
throb of the waves mingled itself with the 
cadence of the music from an orchestra. Another 
flash of electricity showed a ship pasted against 
the horizon. 

“Something makes me feel so queer tonight,” 
whispered Janet. “I seem to have some strange 
foreboding but I can’t describe it. I wish a 
thousand times you had not seen that fortune 
teller; her words have filled me with uncanny 
uneasiness. ” 

Jack laughed at her idea of placing importance 
on the presagement of the woman. 

“Don’t let her empty words trouble you, Janet. 
Don’t you see that she could have you in mind 
if one took her seriously. You were born in the 


[35] 


WOLF MOON 


East, couldn’t you go West sometime later? But 
you mustn’t think of her any more. Just remem¬ 
ber that I will be out there in Oklahoma working 
for my future and you. Dad, you know, wants 
me to come back within a year and start to school 
again. ’ ’ 

“Yes, Jack, you must always keep before you 
the thought of your future profession. This year 
in the West will help you in many ways but 
above all it will teach us to appreciate one 
another. ’ ’ 

“But, perhaps, you may forget when I am 
gone,” Jack threw in the statement as a ques¬ 
tion. 

“Forget you, Jack?” Janet hastened to re¬ 
turn. 

“Yes; isn’t that possible?” 

“I think not. Distance will only lend enchant¬ 
ment to the view. You will be forever in my 
mind. And then we must write often, very 
often.” 

“You’re not enthusiastic about correspondence, 
Janet. At least you never were.” 

“No,” Janet confessed. “But I will be from 
now on. I never had occasion to write to you 
often. Then I’ll be so interested in you out there 
in the West. I will want a letter from you every 
day.” 


[36] 


THE PALMIST’S WORDS 


A sea gull riding in the surf rose from the 
water with a short, startled cry. A group of 
fishermen were pulling a boat encrusted with 
fish scales and dried foam high upon the beach. 
One pointed to where the lightning doubled back 
on its own path and touched the horizon with 
fire. Janet and Jack neared the cottages. 

“Come on, Jack,” called Dave. “It’s time for 
a little boy with a long trip ahead to be in bed. 
By the way do you want your palm read tonight? 
It’s rather late but I think I can arrange for it.” 

“Soft on that silly stuff,” rejoined Jack. “I’d 
like to be around when yours is read. You’ll 
probably marry a borneo beauty with nutmeg 
earrings. ’ ’ 

“Imprint your memory right now. Say your 
gentle goodnight and we’ll track back over the 
walk to our li’l bungalows. You’ll say the sad 
farewell to Janet tomorrow at the station. So 
come along big boy it’s getting late.” 

Five minutes later Jack and Dave together 
walked back up the board walk. Dave in serious 
mood was as likeable as when brimming over 
with humor. He wished Jack hearty good luck 
in Oklahomla, cautioned him not to fail to call 
on him should he need funds and hoped he would 
soon return. 


[37] 


WOLF MOON 


“I’m not so sure you’ll like the West. I took 
a flying trip out that way once myself, ’ ’ recalled 
Dave. “Can’t say as if I ever fell in love with 
it. The West is too shaggy for me. That man 
who said that civilization is blocked by the Mis 
sissippi hit the nail’s head. It might be alright 
for adventure or a rapid trip but for settling 
down out there where the sun does a 15-hour-a- 
day job and where an opera singer would be 
roped for disturbing the peace is not my idea of 
doing the right thing in life.” 

“That’s a rather hasty impression, isn’t it?” 
asked Jack. “Why I know of several families 
who went West and they like the country. They 
say its big, free and that there’s a different spirit 
reigning there.” 

“All that might be true but for my part I’m 
going to live right here in the East in the shadow 
of the major league ball parks. I would rather 
spend one evening at the seashore than a month 
of perfectly good evenings listening to timber 
wolves howl. That might be romantic but I 
would rather hear the prosaic whistle of an 
excursion boat.” 

“Well, I’m going to give it a trial. There is 
more opportunity in the West. Or at least there 
are not one hundred persons ready to jump into 


[38] 


THE PALMIST’S WORDS 


one job. Then again a little time spent in the 
oil lands will broaden me.” 

“Maybe it’ll flatten yon. Those oil field towns 
are shifting affairs but the men who make them 
up set the pace for shiftlessness. You’ve got to 
stroke the canaries the right way out there or else 
they’ll snap you quicker than a turtle. Jack, 
they’ll take a tenderfoot like you and make you 
look like a greaser within a week.” 

“Nothing like seeing for yourself. The oil 
towns may not be as bad as painted.” 

“And by the way,” added Dave, “give my 
regards to this young maid that the palmist spoke 
of. She might turn out to be a rip-snortin’ 
beauty. You never can tell. How many flowers 
are born to blush unseen? It’s a wonder Janet 
lets you go. I suppose you’ll be sending for her 
within a month or two.” 

“Cut that foolish talk. I may be back within 
a month myself. The climate may not agree with 
me.” 

“Yes, the climate of those oil towns may not,” 
laughed Dave. 

Down near the fishing boats a couple moved 
here and there. Ropes swayed back and forth in 
the breeze and threw gaunt, slim shadows on the 
sand. The smell of fish and salt made the air 
pungent. A daub of humanity, brightly colored 


[39] 


WOLF MOON 


under long capes, chatted gayly further up the 
boardwalk. Night air wet the benches and 
dampened clothing. Arc lights sputtered and 
shook in recurring breezes carrying mist off the 
ocean while small drops of moisture fell from 
the boardwalk rails. 

Jack shouted a cheery “So Long” to Dave and 
plunged down a side avenue to his cottage. In 
the seclusion of his room, he, too, felt the weird¬ 
ness as experienced by Janet. He turned on the 
light, fumbled among some clothing and straight¬ 
ened as a long-drawn locomotive whistle fell upon 
his ear. Jack clicked out the light and drew his 
chair to the window. As a long, jointed reptile the 
train came in over the marshes and likewise long, 
deep thoughts came in to obsess him. He wondered 
what lay out there ahead of him in the uncharted 
future. Would it be filled with adventure, success, 
dissatisfaction, romance, what? A picture of the 
oil fields, the high derricks mounting into the 
sky, came to him. Then the familiar face of 
Janet like a phantom trailed over it all and 
smiled through the dream, her blue eyes beckon¬ 
ing. He found the prophesy of the palmist hard 
to dismiss. Who could this mysterious girl be, 
born in the East and living in the West. A 
myth he thought. Why should he worry about 
the empty presagement of a gypsy? 


THE PALMIST’S WORDS 


Vague and nameless stirrings from within 
tortured Jack into a shallow confidence in the 
woman’s words only to be supplanted by abso¬ 
lute repudiation. Yet how did she know he was 
going west to Oklahoma? If she possessed this 
knowledge why not surmise that her prediction 
of marriage was also true. Jack arose flinging 
the pursuing thoughts away. Yet they came 
crowding back like insects, tantalizing, inhuman, 
boring. To his mind Janet fulfilled the ideal¬ 
istic world in which he had often placed her. He 
would believe in Janet, accept her promise, pledge 
his faith in her. 

After all it was disconcerting on the eve of 
his long trip to be told that he would meet a girl 
in Oklahoma whom he would marry, especially 
in view of his affection for Janet. He couldn’t 
harmonize his visit to the oil fields with a meet¬ 
ing of his future fiancee. But the twinkle that 
came into the gypsy’s eye when she grasped his 
hand and traced her fat forefinger over his palm 
in remembrance made Jack shudder. There was 
something strange about her, something of the 
occult in the gleam of her shifting eyes, as if 
she had gone into a future world and returned 
with prize particles of information. Of course 
she could not fortell the future. No human 
could. Dwelling upon it all aroused a new 


2 * 


[41] 


WOLF MOON 


passion within him, a passion to see the woman 
again and fling back the words into her face, to 
stamp her as a liar and a fool. The engendered 
rancour made him rise and rush to the door. As 
he swung it open a flood of starlight, of chilled 
night air, rushed in upon him. It fanned his 
fever to abatement and throwing the door shut 
he fell across the bed. Janet was his own, his 
very own; no gypsy words, no smirking hag 
could rob him of his affection for her. He would 
live for her love and show the world that the 
gypsy’s mumbling was childish, empty, visionary. 

The symphony of frogs and night insects 
mingled with the pounding of surf which he 
couldn’t quite distinguish from the thoughts that 
throbbed at the base of his brain. He closed his 
eyes for a moment and once more came the vision 
of oil fields with the flaring gas lights, the squeak¬ 
ing, rusty machinery, the smell of oil, the tower¬ 
ing rigging, and through it rose the face of Janet. 
This time it had a sad expression. He arose, 
crossed his room to the sea window and looked 
down the beach to where the ocean rolled in with 
its eternal swish. It showed up restless under 
a flash of skylight, as restless, he thought, as his 
own soul. 


[42] 


Chapter HI. 


THE NIGHT RIDE 

UMBER 62 closely follows the Golden State 
limited through Texoka. It pulls out of the mile 
siding soon after the red tail lights of the limited 
have been swallowed in the dust and dirt of the 
miniature cyclone trailing it and blows two longs 
and two shorts for the crossing down by the Haver- 
sill ranch. The long resounding blast is for 
Texoka. 

Bluebonnet had not crossed half way through 
the grove before the drawn-out wail of the loco¬ 
motive transfixed her. It came from somewhere 
off on the left, over the roof of trees that swayed 
back and forth and threw their showers of leaves 
and raindrops down upon her. But it was as a 
siren call, a note of appeal that guided her blind 
footsteps in the darkness. Off to the North some¬ 
where the railway lay she was sure for she re¬ 
called having seen its glistening bands of steel 
stretching off into the sandy distance on the after- 


[43] 



WOLF MOON 


noon when they had thrown camp. Whence it 
came or whither it led she did not know, but she 
felt that if once the tracks were reached she could 
follow them to a house where she might hope for 
protection. 

A second loud blast blaring forth reassured her 
that she was being called. She felt her conscience 
expand in freedom as if receiving direction out of 
the night air and rain. A wild fear of the black¬ 
ness gave way to the obsessing thought that she 
was being pursued and, throwing away all caution, 
she dashed frightened through the underbrush. A 
large forest wall stood canyon-like before her, 
rearing its top until lost in the sky. Bluebonnet 
toiled up the slippery slopes running red with 
water and down through a small ravine where 
fallen trees and gnarled cottonwoods made an al¬ 
most impassible barrier. A dash of light filtered 
through a canopy of interlaced branches parted 
by the wind, only to close and increase the dark¬ 
ness. Wet bushes slashed against her face; unseen 
striplings snapped back and cut her cheeks. It 
was so black under the trees that she could not 
see their large trunks until upon them. Their 
roots lay coiled like slippery serpents over which 
she fell. But she could not stop; she felt lashed 
by some strange force urging her to greater speed. 
Down into a gully where the water had formed a 


[44] 


THE NIGHT RIDE 


rushing stream it drove her. She paused for 
breath, at the same time feeling her heart hammer¬ 
ing against her breast. There was something 
startled, wild, about her that made her look for 
protection behind each bush. Vague, rocking 
phantoms escorted her from tree to tree, stalking 
now by her side, again preceding her. Whisperings 
out of the night air, nameless stirrings within, set 
her into a twitching elf that blended harmoniously 
with the shadows of the forest. 

Above the steady purring of the running water 
she heard, or thought she heard, the wild cry of 
“Bluebonnet” shouted by Nava. It had all the 
vehemence of the yell of an infuriated demon. 
Then it seemed to mingle softly with the rustling 
of trees and the moan of wind. Once more from 
the North sounded the whistle of the engine, a 
high blast that died away to a groan. It set 
Bluebonnet between two appeals, one to go back 
to camp, the other to continue on her flight. The 
reality of the dilemma made her throat quiver in 
fear. Which would be worse, to return to the 
slavery of the camp, its sickening routine, its 
whippings, the anger of Nava and the serfdom of 
Pemella or to fly out into the night and trust to 
the kindness of fate? She chose the latter, the 
unknown to the known, the new life to the old. 
She faced the future and made her resolve. 


[45] 


WOLF MOON 


Slipping, sliding along the wet banks of the 
gully Bluebonnet threaded her way for what 
seemed a mile. Her bare feet began to bleed under 
the stones and sharp obstructions. She fell to 
her knees, arose and raced on. Now she stumbled 
into a deep hole where the water had filled in and 
plunged to her waist. She struggled out and lay 
for a moment damming the water and sand. Then 
she lifted herself slowly and staggered on. More 
than once she missed her footing and crashed 
down among the underbrush. Up over the ravine 
somewhere lay the tracks. She could hear the 
rumble of the freight train growing closer. Evi¬ 
dently the railway paralleled the gulch. The 
screeching of the wheels and the whistle of air 
brakes, accentuated by the humid air, sounded 
close over the bank. She decided to scale the 
slope and make for the tracks wdiere travelling 
would be easier. Accordingly she reached for the 
limb of a blackjack and was in the act of pulling 
herself toward the top when she heard voices to¬ 
gether with the hoofbeats of horses splashing in 
mud and water. The steady clip clop approached 
until it seemed it was coming up the ravine. Re¬ 
leasing her grasp of the limb, Bluebonnet slid 
down, falling into a pool of water. She lifted 
her head to see two horsemen loping along the 
edge of the gully. The darkness prevented recog- 


THE NIGHT RIDE 


nition, but she was certain she heard Pemella’s 
characteristic oaths. In one glimpse she observed 
that the gully -was skirted by the road from camp 
and that the road lead to the station. Bluebonnet 
listened after the hoofbeats died away yet heard 
nothing but the falling rain beating steadily on 
leaf and ground. Now and then a branch broke 
from a tree and fell dangerously close to her. But 
no foreign sound reached her ears. Even the 
train seemed to have passed on. Had it really 
gone? It was this question that urged Bluebonnet 
to scale the wet sides of the gully. There, one 
hundred yards away, stood the long line of freight 
cars. Further up the track the escaping steam 
of the locomotive told her the train was headed 
toward the East. 

Crouching low and running with all her sum¬ 
moned strength Bluebonnet crossed the short 
space between the ravine and the tracks and 
walked nervously along the sides of the cars. Then 
she stopped. A brakeman with lantern in hand was 
coming toward her from the engine. He must not 
see her. She could never explain her predicament. 
He could detect at a glance that she was a gypsy 
and this would defeat her purpose of escape. Yet 
tonight, soaked with rain, spattered with mud, 
dishevelled more than usual, she looked more a 
street urchin than a gypsy done up in brilliant 


[47] 


WOLF MOON 


colors. Her headdress had been lost. She limped 
though she had forgotten the pain. Bluebonnet 
started to cross under the train to escape obser¬ 
vation on the other side. But fear that it might 
start while she was in the act deterred her. She 
contemplated retreat toward the station whose 
lights blinked dimly through the rain. But would 
not Pemella and the rider be there waiting for her ? 
That would be stepping into failure itself. She 
must face the brakeman. Desperate under the 
situation Bluebonnet looked and spied an open 
car. She hesitated for a moment. The brakeman 
was approaching slowly—whistling. She stepped 
close to the car, caught hold of the floor, pulled 
herself up to it and rolled inside. She lay quiet, 
huddling, through fear of detection. The brake- 
man stopped for a moment near the car, the light 
of his lantern throwing shadows on the roof. Then 
he passed. Gloom filled the enclosure. Bluebon¬ 
net’s heart, beating in triphammer throbs, sof¬ 
tened under relaxation. 

The squeak of the swinging lantern became lost 
and left only the sound of dripping rain. Blue¬ 
bonnet looked about her in the darkness. The car 
was empty, only a few scattered piles of chaff 
lay here and there. Her dripping clothing clung 
to her flesh, water ran from her shoulders in a 
cold stream. Later she scraped together litter into 


[ 48 ] 


THE NIGHT RIDE 


a small mound in a corner. Then sounded four 
long blasts from the locomotive. The engineer was 
calling in the rear flagmen. A moment later the 
first few cars jerked and stopped, then the rum¬ 
bling came down the length of the train as sub¬ 
dued thunder. One by one the cars moved until 
the entire line was in motion. Bluebonnet peered 
toward the strip of light that marked the open 
door. Not a soul was in sight. Five minutes later 
the lights of Texoka did not throw their shadows 
on the red cars of Number 62. It was rumbling 
northeastward through the plains of the Oklahoma 
Panhandle. 

Bluebonnet leaned her head back against the 
rough splintery sides of the freight car and lis¬ 
tened to the rythmic beat of the wheels upon the 
rails. The train was gaining momentum and the 
steady click clack of the wheels grew rapid. A 
tower with a flash of light slipped by. Out in 
the offing a dot of light appeared. Some happy 
home, she thought. Perhaps a mother or father 
smiling down upon a loved child. In a moment 
she was dreaming of her own parents. Where 
could they be? Perhaps in some far off city they 
were thinking of her this moment and here she 
sat huddled in a freight car, hounded, chilled, fear¬ 
ful, with no haven or home to turn to, only a 
terrible past of bitterness and anguish. In the 


WOLF MOON 


agony of her desolation she gazed disconsolately 
out into the void but not a single gleam of hope 
came to her mind. She saw only the relentless 
gypsies eager to rend her to pieced for her desire 
to return to American people. A white flame of 
horror burst within her at the thought of Pemella’s 
clutching hands. Then arose in her mind a grim, 
persistent fear that she would never be able to 
conquer the future, to twist out of the net in 
which she was ensnared. Bluebonnet closed her 
eyes for a moment, the low rumble and vibration 
of the cars was making her lids heavy. It was 
like traveling in gypsy wagons over open desert 
wastes. It was as somnolent as the smoky veils 
of heat that rise from the red-walled canyons of 
Arizona. Slumber was coming to her as when the 
furnace winds blow off the Painted Desert wastes 
in the evening. In fancy she slipped back to the 
broad mesa chamelonizing in the sunset, the fluted 
mountain flanks in the distance, the white alkali 
sand, the upreared cacti and the everblowing 
South wind crisp and parching. She opened her 
ears to a strange sound. A soft pounding grew 
louder. It was the brakeman walking on the roof. 
Then the noise lessened. He had crossed to the 
following car. 

Again the deep rumble of the car condemned 
her to a lethargy to which she was slowly sur- 


THE NIGHT RIDE 


rendering. She drew up closer to the wall for 
warmth for the night air was chilling. Great, 
torturing thoughts hovered in her brain. What 
cruelty would Pemella force her to endure should 
he find her? The chief would never permit her to 
slip away so easily. He had guarded her too 
long to let her escape without instituting a search 
that would cover the nation. But it would be 
difficult to trail her after the rain. The gypsies 
could do nothing until the next morning. Then 
she w r ould be miles and miles away. They would 
not suspect that she had ridden the freight. The 
reality of the thing even surprised her. 

Each turn of the wheels was taking her that 
much farther toward freedom. When would the 
train stop ? Where would she go when she left the 
protection of the car? She must eat and drink. 
Perhaps the train would stop miles from a town! 
That would be tragedy in itself. But she had 
firmly decided never to return to the gypsies for 
down in her heart she felt she was no gypsy. The 
magazines that Pemella had brought to her in 
camp had planted within her the seed of rebellion 
and disgust toward nomadic life. That which he 
had intended to strengthen her in his purpose 
had cut a gorge between them, one that time would 
never bridge. Instead of becoming an enlightened 
queen she was transformed into a wise rebel. But 


[ 51 ] 


WOLF MOON 


it was not altogether the pictures of the home life 
of the American people, the hearthstone, the happy 
children that had fired her to repudiate the loath¬ 
some life, as it was a vision that recurred to her 
always in serene moments in camp. It had etched 
itself into her young memory. At times Blue¬ 
bonnet believed it a figment of her imagination 
but the persistency of the day-dream gave her 
proof that it sprang from some scene of her early 
days. The recurring picture was that of a large 
cotton field and in the background a massive home 
with high pillars. It seemed that she was being 
led through the field of cotton and ever and anon 
she would look up into the eyes of a woman who 
smiled down sweetly upon her. It must have been 
her mother for the smile appeared maternal, in¬ 
effably sweet, tender, full of solicitude. Her eyes 
were large and lustrous and in those depths reposed 
a world of love. But she could go back no farther, 
something seemed to drop out of her mind, leaving 
her stranded with only the picture of the Colonial 
pillars and a sweet-faced woman. If this vision 
had swum into her brain once it had come a thous¬ 
and times. Bluebonnet had loved to dwell upon 
it for it was something different from gypsy ex¬ 
istence. There was serenity about it that was in 
contrast to the driven life in camp. It was her 


[ 52 ] 


THE NIGHT RIDE 


foundation for the conviction that she was white, 
American, and not an Hungarian gypsy. 

But whenever she had spoken of the vision to 
Nava, the queen would wrench her muscles into 
angry convulsions, the blood would rush to her 
face and for the hundredth time she would hiss, 
“ You’re a gypsy. You’re the daughter of Lodhka. 

Hah! White. Gypsy, like this-” and as she 

pulled the yellow cloth from her arms she would 
point to the bulging blue veins that ran like 
straightened snakes up to her elbows. 

A flood of these memories came to Bluebonnet 
in the gloom of the car, flitted back and forth. 
The darkness of the enclosure sent forth its 
stealthy, noiseless shapes, spectre and human, man 
and phantom, each on the other’s trail. At times 
it was Pemella, crouching low and then straighten¬ 
ing to smile sinically. Then came Nava searching 
here and there, striking at an unseen foe, her 
rounded shoulders half-hiding a large moon face 
sagging with wrinkles. During a surcease of im¬ 
agination Bluebonnet dropped into slumber. 

Sometime during the night the rain ceased beat¬ 
ing on the roof of the car. The mass of heavy 
clouds broke into small phalanxes that here and 
there let through the eyes of the night. On, on, 
through the darkness the engine cut its wide swath 
of light across the prairies. It crawled slowly up 


[ 53 ] 



WOLF MOON 


an elevation and screeched down through miles of 
plains where cattle lifted their head to gaze at the 
monster with fiery mane. Cinders fell into puddles 
of water that stood near the track. The wind had 
almost disappeared. 

Number 62 pulled and coasted through the night 
into the pre-dawn darkness. It stopped once to 
take water, again it slowed almost to a standstill 
for a stubborn steer that took his stand in the 
middle of the way. Then down in the path where 
the engine was pointed came a few streaks of light. 
Dawn was throwing its effulgence into the heavens 
which in turn cast the light to earth. One by one 
objects became visible. The ranch houses, the 
herds of cattle, a group of trees near the habita¬ 
tions and far down the track Terlton hove in view. 
A group of warehouses, as red as the Rock Island 
can paint its possessions, was glistening, the wet 
boards reflecting the morning sun. A long-drawn 
whistle, a short season of grinding and sparking 
wheels and the shaking cars jerked to a stop. 
Number 62 pulled into the siding here to let the 
mail train by. It was every day routine. 

The village seemed in slumber save for a lone 
rider who sat his horse laconically. A dark crop 
of coppery hair, like a mop, showed from beneath 
his Mexican sombrero. His leg thrown sideways 
over the saddle gave him an appearance of listless- 


THE NIGHT RIDE 


ness accentuated by small clouds of cigarette smoke 
that hung about his face and refused to be blown 
away by the stirring breeze. He was stooped 
though his wide shoulders gave evidence of great 
strength. Occasionally he flecked ashes on the 
mane of his pony who, from time to time, stomped 
at flies and closed his eyes from attacking insects. 
The dreamy, lackadaisical air was staged not alone 
by the quiet village but by the sun bursting out 
of the East, red and hot and bright. In its rays 
bobbed and zigzagged a million flying creatures 
early venturing upon their day of dance. 

With an air of indifference the cowboy jingled 
the rowel of his spur against a saddle ring at the 
same time beating against the horn with a pen¬ 
knife to a song that ran like this: 

Ga long, thar, Jerry, 

Whoa! Haw! Buck! 

Bound fer Arkansas, 

Dern my luck! 

Grease up th’ blacksnake 
An’ let’s make dust, 

We gotta get a goin’ fer 
It’s Arkansas or bust. 

As the train approached the drawling died 
within his throat. He answered the wave of the 
engineer with a hint of smile that displayed his 


[ 55 ] 


WOLF MOON 


depravity and viciousness, akin to that seen lurk¬ 
ing on the faces of Mexican gamblers at their 
winning points. 

The brakes had scarcely ceased snarling when 
Bluebonnet rubbed her eyes to awakening. She 
was conscious of light streaming into the enclosure. 
Then something slipped before her vision that 
made her spring to her feet in alarm. She gave 
vent to a startled cry. The shock made her gasp 
for breath, something seemed to coil around her 
throat, pressed it with the grasp of a giant. 

Two black eyes—gypsy black—were peering in 
at her through the open door. 


Chapter IV. 


INDIAN OR GYPSY ? 

F EAR harnessed for a moment Bluebonnet’s 
pulsating heart until it throbbed haltingly. The 
same light she had often seen in the depths of 
Pemella’s eyes glinted from those of the stranger’s 
in front of her. In her sudden awakening she had 
believed him Pemella. Then as her senses cleared, 
she perceived that she was mistaken. But there 
w r as a strong resemblance, the same Grecian fea¬ 
tures, the coppery skin, the sinister expression 
twisted into a snarl. When his face broke into a 
faint leering smile she felt she were once again 
in Pemella’s grasp. Ten feet away this big stranger 
sat upon his coal black pony and leaned toward 
her as if watching an animal stirring in the grass. 
Blue smoke from his cigarette curled toward his 
face and as he glared through it his eyes narrowed 
into slits that let light through like narrow cellar 
windows. Evidently he had just seen her for a 
look of surprise preceded his sickly smile. His 



WOLF MOON 


horse, too, pricked his ears sharply and set them 
in Bluebonnet’s direction. It was this cue that 
had caused the man to look inside the car. 

Tulane Baisan was not slow to see that this was 
a novel creature in Texas county. Unmistakably 
she was a gypsy although she lacked their charac¬ 
teristic color. He had seen thousands of them be¬ 
fore and knew their traits. This, he thought, was 
a stolen child. That she had left a gypsy camp 
could be ascertained by the fantastic colors of her 
dress and the armlet that lay jet black upon her 
muscles. Never before had he seen a bare-legged 
girl huddled in a freight car. That is why he 
crouched over his saddle as a prospector bending 
over a find of gold. It did not take him long to 
realize that she was the prettiest creature on whom 
he had ever gazed. He had branded cattle from 
the Cimarron to the Brazos and even up into Colo¬ 
rado and Wyoming but during all his life in the 
sage country he had never come across such a won¬ 
der as this. Her large blue eyes brought to him 
the color of the skies that come with droughts, as 
blue as the mazarine Gulf at Galveston. He had 
seen sweet-faced girls like this one along the beach 
in the coast city years ago. There was something 
tenderly human and refined about her as if crys¬ 
tallized from some higher substance. 


INDIAN OR GYPSY? 


A strange sense of possession took hold of 
Tulane. He had experienced it before when he 
had come across some wild, unridden broncho on 
the range. The wilder, more unmanageable it was 
the greater swelled his desire for possession. Then, 

too, when he had come to ranch in Texas 

county he had spotted the horse he was now riding 
and given his service gratis for a period to call 
Nep his own. Now this same feeling swept over 
him again as this strange girl stood before him in 
the car. He wanted her as his own, to place his 
rough lips close to hers, to fondle her face and 
arms. He gloated with the desire of having a 
beautiful creature as this to stamp as his, to move 
her will, to urge her to this and that as he would 
his pony. 

Tulane slid from his mount and slouched to the 
car. Bluebonnet recoiled a step but stopped as 
Tulane smiled. There was something magnetic 
about him, an undefinable thing that transfixed 
her as in a spell. 

“Kinda strange to see a miss like you heah so 
early in the mawnin, ’ ’ drawled out the stranger. 

“I’m lost. I really don’t know where I am.” 
Bluebonnet confessed, gripped with intuitive fear 
at his approach. 


[ 59 ] 


WOLF MOON 


“Wal, Ah reckon Ah kin tell you. You’re in 
Texas county and this heah town is Terlt’n. 
Might you come along to the ranch ? Mrs. Trichell 
—she’s the owner—Ah reckon she ’ll be purty glad 
to fix you up.” 

Bluebonnet hesitated for a moment. There was 
something about him at once repulsive and at¬ 
tractive. Perhaps this stranger’s appearance was 
providential. Yet, the thought of being led away 
by him was not welcome. Bluebonnet entertained 
a suspicion that he was a spy of a wandering gypsy 
outfit and that Pemella had by some means gotten 
into communication with him. Would she be led 
back to another gypsy camp and held until Pemella 
arrived? Yet what if she refused to go with him? 
It might incense this stranger who she noticed car¬ 
ried a gun slung low at his hip. She decided it 
would be better to accept his proferred kindness, 
to trust to his honesty and follow him. 

“Yes, I’ll go,” Bluebonnet accepted with an as¬ 
sumed glint of pleasure. ‘ ‘ How far is the ranch ? ’ ’ 

“Wal, now, some folks calls it three miles but 
to us with hosses we calls it aroun’ the bend. Ah 
reckon you’re not ’quainted in these parts?” 

Bluebonnet jumped to the ground while Tu- 
lane’s gloating eye ranged over her from head to 
foot. Then he mounted Nep and pulled Bluebon¬ 
net up back of him. 


INDIAN OR GYPSY? 


“Nep as a rule ain’t a carin’ for extra loads 
but Ah reckon he won’t mind you,” Tulane was 
pleased with his sense of humor. “Where did you 
say you was from ? ’ ’ 

Bluebonnet surmised the question. She met it 
with the indifferent answer: 

“Oh, I’ve been in Denver.” 

“Wheel All the way from Denver to heah on 
a freight. Purty far ride for such as youse. Ah 
been in Col’rado. Punched cattle down near Du¬ 
rango. ’ ’ 

“Do you like Denver?” questioned Bluebonnet, 
aiming to throw him from further questioning 
whence she came. 

1 ‘ Hump ! Lot’s better than this heah country. 
Yuh’ll too. Nothing to this but wind an’ sand 
an’ dust. But Ah reckon Ah ain’t sorry Ah come 
now.” He turned his face to show his purposeful 
smile to Bluebonnet. A pang of uneasiness gripped 
her heart and she automatically felt herself draw 
away from him. He was becoming more and more 
repugnant. 

“Thar’s the ranch. See it nar the cottonwoods. 
Don’t know what made me git up so early this 
mawnin’. Ahm used to gittin’ the mail but Ah 
jest naterally shook myself early. Ole man Hunter 
neer opens up ’till seven. Ah was just a settin’ 
a-watchin’ the sun come up when Number 62 


[61] 


WOLF MOON 


whistles way back. Pulls in at Terlt’n to let the 
mail get by. Ah heers Nep snortin’ queer like and 
twistin’ them big ears of his and Ah makes for my 
gun. Then Ah sees a bundle of color move. Sort ’a 
thought it was a Navajo blanket throwin’ a fit at 
first. Ah looks closer and Ah sees you rub 
your eyes and then Ah begins to rub mah eyes 
and perk up a little. Pears to me now you looked 
skeert of somethin’.” 

“Yes, I was at first.” Then hastening to divert 
his attention she asked, “By the way did you say 
Mrs. Trichell owns the ranch?” 

“Wal, she and ole man Trichell. He’s a case 
too. Laziest cuss alive. Cattle thieves will keel 
him over yit. But some day—wal just wait. He’s 
had more than one run-in with ole man Garrett 
and Garrett ain’t a-wastin’ any love on the ole 
man. They’ll draw in close quarters and the 
quickest will walk off livin’. Me and the ole man 
don’t pull well eitha. He’s forever pesterin’ me 
’bout things. Ah has a powerful smooth piece of 
handle on mah gun that’s waitin’ a notch. Ah 
mighty nigh plugged him onct and he’d a better 
mind his own bizz. Ah ain’t a likin’ him.” 

They had come to the grove of cottonwoods and 
catalpas that shaded the Trichell homestead. Tu- 
lane’s arrival with a pretty girl that early in the 


INDIAN OR GYPSY? 


morning brought the cowboys out of the bunk 
house pell mell. In a group they watched Tulane 
ride up with a stiffness and pride that was comic. 
There was a yip of surprise from Seth Hopkins, the 
oldest rider. 

Mrs. Trichell appeared at the kitchen door, a 
picture of amazement. Above her head appeared 
a cloud of blue smoke that slowly circled into tue 
fresh morning air, a testimony that she was cook¬ 
ing breakfast for the hungry hands. 

The sight of the young girl dressed in gypsy 
fashion sitting astride Tulane’s pony startled her. 
It was her cry that made John Trichell wheel 
his rolling chair into the kitchen in double haste. 

The Trichells were well and favorably known 
in Texas county. They had bought their large 
ranch from a friend who had acquired it when 
No Man’s Land opened up in the early nineties. 
From forty head of cattle he had increased 
his stock to twenty-five hundred. Occasionally 
a Norther took its toll and once a cyclone 
drew its destructive length across the section. But 
it was commonly said that Trichell was the luck¬ 
iest man in Texas county. His buffalo grass stood 
up well during the long droughts of summer and 
early autumn. At times his cattle went lean but 
they were the earliest of all to fatten in the short 
grass country. His name was known at the stock- 


WOLF MOON 


yards of Chicago, Kansas City, Omaha, Oklahoma 
City, wherever dealers congregated to speak of 
beef. His industry, probity and justice had gained 
for him a reputation that spread from one end of 
the Strip to the other. His water holes never went 
dry; his cattle were always the sleekest. But this 
fact was known to the rustlers also, to whom fat 
cattle were blue-ribbon prizes. It was while pro¬ 
tecting his stock from depredations that Trichell 
had been wounded years before. He was found 
unconscious in Navajo Gulch hours later. Trichell 
recovered but it was found necessary to amputate 
both legs above the knees. Thence on he directed 
the ranch activities from his wheel chair. The 
shock of the fight had turned his hair prematurely 
gray and deepened the wrinkles in his face. But 
he never complained. True, many had said the 
accident had hardened Trichell, made him another 
man over night. He had gained a reputation for 
being stern and a driver of men but with the ex¬ 
ception of Tulane Baisan and a few riders, whom 
he had been forced to dismiss, the boys at the 
Trichell ranch were particularly well satisfied. 
From under the cottonwood grove in summer he 
could see his cowboys riding among the cattle in 
the distance and inspecting fences. And when the 
biting winds swept over the Panhandle he sat 
blanketed near the high window of the living room, 


[64] 


INDIAN OR GYPSY? 


musing over the experiences of past days. 

It was a penance for John Trichell to be inactive 
and confined to his home but his misfortune was 
softened by his memories. He could recall a thous¬ 
and nights spent among his cattle, nights when 
rain fell and froze into icy pellets on his stock, 
plating the earth with inches of sleet; nights, too, 
when wolves in packs harassed the weaker calves. 
There were attacks, too, from rustlers who cut out 
choice beeves, just a few, and hurried them away 
in the darkness. He dared not pursue for he knew 
only too well that companion thieves were watch¬ 
ing for this chance to swoop down on the unpro¬ 
tected herd and slice away a score of heads. Then, 
there were August days spent out in the open when 
the sun burnt the land into a ball of dust and 
red-hot sand, when the cattle wandered lazily seek¬ 
ing protection from the coppery sky and the trop¬ 
ical breath of summer, their hides bronzed to a 
brighter red by the blistering rays. 

4 ‘Here’s a young miss to see you, Mrs. Trichell. 
Came all the way from Denver. But she ain’t 
sayin’ much,” blurted out Tulane, as he stopped 
near the door. 

Mrs. Trichell approached Bluebonnet, who had 
slidden to the ground. Something about the young 
girl’s appearance won pity from her heart. She 
wanted to ply this pretty little creature with ques- 


[65] 


WOLF MOON 


tions but with all the amazed riders standing 
around she perceived how tactless this would be. 

“I’m so glad to meet someone like you. I’m 
lost but I will tell you everything,” Bluebonnet 
spoke gently so that she could be heard by Mrs. 
Trichell alone. 

“Don’t bother, my little child. Come right in¬ 
side. You’re just in time for breakfast. I know 
you haven’t eaten a bite. ’ ’ 

Bluebonnet was ushered into Mrs. Trichell’s 
large room. She felt like kneeling before this sweet 
faced lady. With a woman’s intuition she trusted 
her and was prompted to tell her everything with¬ 
out restraint. 

Mrs. Trichell, observing the sensitiveness of the 
girl, deliberately detained her in her room until 
the riders had breakfasted. They took an unusually 
long time to eat this morning and cast curious 
glances toward the living room door. Even after 
they had eaten they lingered longer than customary 
on the outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the 
fairy vision. 

In the days that followed Bluebonnet told all 
to her new found mother. She painted the picture 
of gypsy life, of the tyrant Nava, of their intention 
of forcing her to marry Pemella, of her escapade 
and wild trip through the night, and lastly, of 
her meeting with Tulane. 


[66] 


INDIAN OR GYPSY? 


Mrs. Trichell felt a keen interest in the story of 
the girl. The Trichells were not blessed with 
children. Yet both she and her husband loved 
them. Someone had whispered that when the 
Trichells came into Oklahoma years before they 
had brought with them a small child. But the fact 
was that Mrs. Trichell had never borne a child. 
There on the lonely ranch she had wished for 
children a thousand times and graying hairs only 
intensified the desire. The couple was approach¬ 
ing the time of life when children would have been 
a comfort. 

The days that followed were busy ones for Mrs. 
Trichell, who set to making new clothing for Blue¬ 
bonnet. The latter helped around the house and 
shouldered many of the household duties. Blue¬ 
bonnet was delighted with her new home for Mrs. 
Trichell had insisted that she call the place such. 
Above all she had fallen in love with Mrs. Trichell. 
The great interest taken in her by the latter 
thrilled her with new affection. Then, too, she was 
delighted with her raiment. It was not the purple 
patch of the gypsy, the yellow, red and green all 
combined in one dress. Those made by Mrs. 
Trichell were dainty frocks of peacock blue or del¬ 
icate pink and trimmed with taste. The simple 
designs pleased her eye far more than the gaudy 
colorings of the gypsies. 


[67] 


WOLF MOON 


In lucid moments she described to Mrs. Trichell 
gypsy life, her wanderings from coast to mountains 
and the boresome monotony of the existence. She 
insisted that she had never been happy and that 
she was not one of them. Yet Nava could tell 
the date of her birth and name the town where 
she was born in Texas. 

“That is why they called me Bluebonnet,’’ she 
explained sadly one afternoon when the two were 
seated on the side porch watching the large clouds 
gather in the West. 

“And your last name?” queried Mrs. Trichell, 
looking up for a moment from her sewing. 

“I don’t know; I never knew. I was always 
called Bluebonnet, just Bluebonnet.” 

Pity welled to the heart of her hearer. After a 
thoughtful pause she asked, “How would you 
like to be called Trichell, Louise Trichell?” 

“0, I would love Louise Trichell. Will you? 
Can you?” She inquired with intense eagerness. 

“Surely, why not? Somehow you remind me 
of other days.” Here she hesitated for a moment 
and looked out to where the sun was splashing the 
turf with shadows under the catalpas. “Yes, John 
and I were speaking of you last night and we 
decided to offer you the name of Louise Trichell— 
if you should like it.” 


[68] 


INDIAN OR GYPSY ? 


“Me? Oh, I’d be so happy to have it/’ Louise 
eagerly declared. 

‘ ‘ Then Louise it shall be, ’ ’ announced Mrs. 
Trichell. 

“You know whenever I hear the name of Blue¬ 
bonnet I see Nava rushing toward me and I hear 
her dreadful yell beating against my ear. And 
those awful blows! Oh, Mrs. Trichell, do you think 
she will ever find me again?” The question was 
full of pathos mingled with a desire for protection. 

“No, indeed, Louise. She will harm you no 
more even should she find you. You may make 
this your home and stay with us as long as you 
live. Perhaps you are a Godsend for John and I 
are getting up in years and we need someone to 
confide in and, in turn, to have help us. Someone 
just like you. But remember, you must have as 
little as possible to do with Tulane. He is a bad 
man, deceitful and terrible when drunk.” 

“Do you think he is a gypsy?” asked Louise 
with grave concern. 

“Well, I always thought he was part Indian or 
Mexican. He has the appearance of a greaser. 
Anyway he is bad at heart. He thinks that you 
belong to him because he set his eye on you first 
at the station. He has a terrible reputation. Why 
[ even believe it has crossed down into Mexico. 
Vesterday he told Seth Hopkins that he and you 


[69] 


WOLF MOON 


would be missing from the ranch some day, gone 
to Guymon to get married. It sort of worried Seth 
and the other boys. They’re watching him because 
they know that he’s watching you. Don’t ever 
leave the ranch unless you tell us where you are 
going and above all don’t leave the house in the 
evening. I believe that Tulane is showing up 
grouchy of late because he has not had a chance 
to talk to you. But be careful. Remember he is 
watching you all the time. John would discharge 
him but he would only remain around Terlton 
and make trouble. His right name is Alsak, Alsak 
Baisan, but the boys dubbed him Tulane because 
he declares he went to Tulane University in New 
Orleans, but of course he never did.” 

“What does he claim to be?” the girl’s eyes 
were afire with wonder. 

“Oh, just a tramp rider, as they’re called in this 
country. Declares he’s an Indian from the Osage 
nation and that he’ll get money from the tribal 
treasury through sale of oil. But I don’t believe 
it. If he had Indian rights his share would be 
coming quarterly. He’s more Mexican than he is 
Indian. But his love for horses shows that he’s 
either. ’ ’ 

The warning made Louise feel uneasy but she 
took the words to heart. She was too busy in the 
enjoyment of life, too eager to partake of the new 


[70] 


INDIAN OR GYPSY ? 


freedom, to pay attention to any of the riders. 
She found herself time and again repeating the 
name of Louise Trichell. It sounded sweet to her 
ears. She loved to whisper it to herself in the 
silence of the room, under the grove of cottonwoods 
or lying on her bed in the night time, watching 
the primrose bloom of stars. It instilled her with 
confidence and helped her toward an insight of 
culture and refinement. 

John Trichell felt a pride in Louise. He loved 
the way she rode the ponies and as a mark of 
his appreciation gave her a coal black mare, the 
pick of the corral. She named her Thunderbird, 
because of her fire and restlessness. Louise, used 
to pitching, pawing, bucking horses, rode Thun¬ 
derbird with an ease and grace that surprised John 
Trichell. Her love for the pony endeared Louise 
to the old man for his horses were his pride. He 
had spent years in building up a corral of beauties 
and to find a girl who could ride Thunderbird with 
a swinging abandon delighted him. In the evenings 
when the supper dishes were cleared away she 
would go to the corral and whistle for her pet. 
Soon she came, pealing and whinnying for her 
lump of sugar. When saddled she would mount 
her in a flying leap, run the rowel of her spur 
gently down her side and with a few short pitches 
Thunderbird would plunge down through the 


[71] 


WOLF MOON 


catalpas and out upon the plain. Always she rode 
alone. The boys from the bunk house benches 
watched her hair trailing in the wind and ex¬ 
claimed, ‘‘ Ain’t she a riding beauty!’’ Then when 
the evening star took gold from the quivering veins 
of the dying sun and twinkled down upon the 
darkening land she turned homeward, her face 
flushed with the thrill and passion of life. 

# # # # # 

Navajo Gulch lay like a deep furrow along the 
Western end of John Trichell’s ranch. It was a 
dividing line between his domain and that of Gene 
Garrett’s. The latter from time to time increased 
his cattle in suspiciously large numbers. He was a 
taciturn man who had come from Arizona and 
brought with him a reputation as a killer. Trichell 
in early days had often ridden over to the Gulch 
at night. From time to time it was frequented by 
cattle thieves who often pitched camp there. On 
several occasions he had witnessed Garrett at some 
of the meetings gesticulating to the men. That he 
was in league with the rustlers he was convinced 
without a doubt but he never repeated his con¬ 
victions to anyone except his wife. 

The sun never looked more beautiful than when 
sinking over Navajo Gulch. It seemed wearied 
after a day of prairie heating and sank in red 
flame as if stoking the furnace for the sun fires 


INDIAN OR GYPSY ? 


of the morrow. It threw its last rays on the swirl¬ 
ing puffs of wind that sprang to life as the sun 
died. The western wall of Roundtop caught its 
last gleam on rocks worn smooth by wind and rain. 
To the riders in the distance it appeared as if the 
mountain were afire in places that burned and went 
out, burned and went out, until the sun god closed 
his bloodshot eyes. Silently dusk would lower its 
sable curtains until the world of light grew faint 
and lived but a moment in the zenith. Down in 
the plain night’s creatures stalked abroad, preying 
upon the weaker. Blackjacks bordering the Gulch 
stood guard over the doings of those beyond the 
law and fugitives from justice who in this elong¬ 
ated pit felt secure from the world of men. One 
by one a myriad of stars peeped forth from their 
arching home. Timber wolves, made frisky by the 
evening’s chill, appeared from nowhere and sulked 
near rocks and around dunes. Sniffing the fresh 
air and slipping in and out among the weeds, they 
came like gray ghosts. As night dropped lower 
and the moon arose they ventured farther out upon 
the plains. The herd of cattle drew closer. A cry 
of defiance to the new moon rose from the hot 
throat of a wolf somewhere up near Roundtop. 
The quiet of the prairie country was broken by an 
answering roll. Farther on tw r o wolves sat their 
haunches and threw their sharp noses toward the 


3 * 


[ 73 ] 


WOLF MOON 


moon. It was the call of the wild, a strong im¬ 
pulse from within that broke from their throats 
as regularly as waves breaking upon sand. Some 
subtle, indefinable message passed between them 
and the evening serenade halted. For a moment 
all was quiet. Only the wind sighed among the 
greasewood and pungent sage. 

From the darkness of her room Louise listened 
with eyes stranded on the starlit mesa toward the 
west. Yes, there was something mystic and charm¬ 
ing about the Gulch even though the finger of 
warning had been pointed toward it. Later Louise 
watched the moonbeams creep through the moving 
curtains of her room and stamp the carpet with 
silver discs. So thought Louise would be her life. 
The light of revelation would come into it some 
day like a moonbeam and she would know all. 
Untrammeled, then, she could lift her face and 
speak her name. 


[ 74 ] 


Chapter V. 


LIQUID GOLD 


TT HE bottom bad dropped out of oil. 

The great Burbank field was becoming stagnant. 
Oil had glutted the markets and the storage tanks 
from the Red River district to the Osage fields 
were full. Heavy gravity crude was quoted at 
$1.20 a barrel. Small producers and independents 
wrangled over cuts in the cities, a sure sign of a 
gorged market. Obviously it was better to wait 
until prices went higher. It did not pay to pro¬ 
duce. Then the Tampico field was sending heavy 
trains of oil—hundreds of them—across the line, 
and pumping oil into the maws of tankers, a fact 
that kept the commodity in Oklahoma lower than 
ever in its history. For the first time in months 
the power was shut off in the fields. The drillers 
and derrickmen turned toward Tulsa to await a 
better day or else, bag in hand, left for new wells 
that had “blown in” or for “wildcatting” outfits 
in other sections of the state. 


[ 75 ] 



WOLF MOON 


Jack Corcoran found life in Two Sands rough 
but interesting. He had come across many sur¬ 
prises, the greatest being that fortune in the oil 
lands was more or less mythical. The tales that 
he had heard in the East about the great wealth 
awaiting the oil adventurer were exaggerated, like 
many other fanciful stories of the West. He 
learned to distinguish between an oil man and an 
oil worker. The former lived in stucco palaces 
along the beautiful boulevards in Tulsa, Oklahoma 
City and New York. In fact he usually possessed 
three homes, one in Oklahoma, the other in New 
York and a third in California. Racing stables, 
expensive dogs were sidelines for publicity. On 
the other hand the oil worker who dressed in boots 
and khaki and risked his life from eight to five 
each day, received only wages. The latter, while 
large, were not commensurate with the risk, noth¬ 
ing like the fabulous sums reported in districts 
distant from the fields. 

In two months time Jack had advanced from 
an ordinary “flunky” to a driller. He learned 
much in those two months of oil, about the drilling 
of wells, the making of cores, the shales and sands 
and showings, the pressure of gas, had seen a 
gusher “blow in” and oil shoot 400 feet in the 
air. He was present when the largest well in 
North Oklahoma came in and scattered oil into 


LIQUID GOLD 


huge lakes. Burning October suns made him real¬ 
ize that he had not chosen child’s play in his pro¬ 
bation year as his father was wont to call it. 

The oil boom prices still held sway in restaurants, 
shops, rooming houses, everywhere. The com¬ 
modities of life were beyond the dreams of avarice. 
Still the men lived and grumbled not. Easy to 
come, easy to go, was the factor that smoothed the 
sting of exorbitant prices. From dawn to dusk 
and from then on until the small hours of the 
morning there was a cheer and loud guffhaw that 
bespoke the mind of the populace. Long before the 
sun had dropped behind the low ridge of hills the 
workers came home in trucks and rattling contrap¬ 
tions that skidded on the greasy roads and darted 
between the trucks and swinging trailers. Then 
followed the long wait in line at the coffee houses 
and cafes, the hurried meal with the bantering, 
cursing men. With supper snatched Jack dropped 
back to his room from where he could see the 
moving army of men and women. In main they 
were hard, rough faces, products of checkered ca¬ 
reers, faces that mirrored the adversity through 
which they had survived. Large, strong men, 
characteristic of the west, mingled and shook 
hands with diminutive ones who appeared as 
if the suns of the Southwest had shrunk 
them. Some were scarred and serious, smeared 


[ 77 ] 


WOLF MOON 


with oil, others dapper, as \l fallen from 
a Fifth avenue bus. But altogether the cast was 
rough. Gold teeth flashed in the crude, shoddy- 
shacks where liquor flowed across the bars and 
men slouched by peering into faces as if searching 
for fortunes long since lost. The oil lust created 
its blood lust. Distrust was instinctive and with 
distrust came suspicion and with suspicion hate 
to be followed by hot words that brought forth 
guns spitting fire. Tragedy was enacted before 
the smoke cleared and cursing, running and yelling 
men hastened to the open street. Crowning all 
was the mad desire for gain that brought this 
horde of men together to work and slave and take 
from one another. 

Yet with it all was a bantering palaver and per¬ 
siflage that Jack never could understand. Many 
did not have the price of a meal ticket in their 
pockets, did not know whence the night’s lodging 
would come, yet they laughed and cursed and joked 
with him who had fallen in rich or whose pockets 
bulged with oil-stained bills. 

When the lights on the corners shot yellow 
streaks on the dusty, dirty streets there came forth 
from their dens the vultures of the night. They 
were women long lost to the delicacy of shame, 
their high-painted cheeks only a mockery of the 
youth that once was theirs. Bivaling the men in 


LIQUID GOLD 


uncouthness, in slang and wickedness, they ap¬ 
pealed to the men whom they rivaled. In pairs 
they walked the main street casting flippant 
glances at strangers and smiles and jests at their 
acquaintances. Some had stained their fading 
hair with dye that showed up only in the sunlight. 
There were no young, fresh girls whose eyes danced 
with vim and youth, no dainty maidens with de¬ 
mure glance and modest beauty. These creatures 
forced themselves to a vivacity that passed when 
the object of their prey had slouched by. 

Leeches, they are, who come with the spurting 
oil, following the hordes of men as of old the 
wolves followed the prairie schooners. Yet every 
oil town has these problems. They shrug their 
shoulders haughtily and mutter between rouged 
lips when men laugh at their advances and pass 
by. From town to town, from boom to boom, they 
come and go. Here today, tomorrow they may be 
revelling in the gayety of a village sprung up 
during the night. At times the town seems to 
revolve around them, that is in the evening when, 
spider-like, they come out at dusk. Again they 
slink into obscurity, not drawing a thought from 
those whom they have won over, that is in the 
day time when the workers are busy near the black 
mud of the wells. They disappear suddenly. 
Whither? No one knows, nor cares. The interest 


[ 79 ] 


WOLF MOON 


they awaken is ephemeral. Solicitation at night 
gives way to repudiation at dawn. The one with 
the small scar, half covered by a strand of blond 
hair, or the dark Italian-appearing girl with the 
twisted smile have flitted away, singed butterflies, 
gone to fields more fertile for their designs. 

Jack watched their manouverings from his open 
window. He pitied them, a pity that sprang from 
the almost remote possibility of their redemption. 
He observed one particularly from his eyrie. She 
was small with a blue to her eyes that seemed to 
mirror all the innocence of the world. Yet she 
possessed a bold recklessness that lacked indigen- 
ence in such a petite body. Each evening she came 
in from the side street near the drug store, passed 
through the group of lounging men, never banter¬ 
ing, but with eyes straight ahead. Slowly she 
walked down the street until opposite Jack’s win¬ 
dow. From out of the shadows of a stairway 
would come a man, dressed as if lifted from a 
race-track paddock. For a moment only she would 
pause, hand him something and pass on. Not once 
did she look at him directly. When he flashed out 
of the dusk, her wan smile dropped from her face 
as quickly as lightning recedes from the sky and 
the muscles of her small jaws trembled. But that 
was all. She moved on. He disappeared. Then 
would return her assumed smile, sweet, appealing. 


LIQUID GOLD 


She was always alone. The others strutted in pairs 
and figured in the brawls on side streets and dives 
down near the river bottoms. The daily sheet that 
broke into print sometime during the early morn¬ 
ing hours gave but faint delineations of the gun 
play of the night before. The old frontier life was 
re-enacted time and again. The law seemed in¬ 
effective. There was talk in the Oklahoma capitol 
of making a drive against gambling dens. The 
officers who were sent brandished their arms but 
the blow hung suspended. It had been said that 
money was passed and the gambling and wild life 
went on. Oklahoma papers wrote stirring editor¬ 
ials and declared that the Burbank field was not 
beyond the law. The lawlessness should be 
stopped. But it went no farther. Paper talk was 
not relished by the element holding sway in the 
overnight towns. Men acted suddenly, spontane¬ 
ously here. They drew their guns and thought 
later, followed their own course and asked for no 
advice. This was augmented by the curse of moon¬ 
shine whiskey sold across bars. To the men ‘ ‘ corn ’ ’ 
supplied hope when hope was about extinct. It 
aroused them from stupors to which low prices and 
ill luck had dragged them. It fired them to lie, 
to scheme, to plot, to shoot, to grapple in death 
frays. There was law but the law lacked teeth. 


[ 81 ] 


WOLF MOON 


From the watchtower somewhere back in the big 
cities one day flashed a wire that oil production 
must cease. The news fell like a plummet casting 
a pall over the town. One by one the engines 
stopped pumping. The merriment of the workers 
ceased; the coffee shop owners featured grouches; 
men sulked in side streets and whispered together 
in alleys. Fast cars were commandeered and oil 
men frisked away to other towns. The usual crowds 
that gathered before the large wall maps and 
watched the shifting of varicolored pins, showing 
findings and locations, melted away. The irrepress¬ 
ible lease salesman lost none of his insistence nor 
eloquence in his endeavor to sell land near “blow 
ins” that were in reality only “dusters” or dry 
holes . But he faced an immovable wall for the 
tide had turned. Men held on to their money with 
a vice’s grip. 

With the news of the shut down Jack Corcoran 
felt a w T ave of satisfaction come over him that he 
could not quite fathom. He W'as sickened with the 
oil fields and their people. He had become 
a first class tool dresser now but he was dis¬ 
heartened with the work. Even the atmosphere 
of the fields disgusted him. He despised the 
sight of black pools of oil, the greasy tools 
and machinery, the splotches of rainbowed oil 
on the hillsides, the dirty town with its flea- 


[ 82 ] 


LIQUID GOLD 


bitten dogs and its men sitting on the pave¬ 
ments. It was oil, oil, oil, from morning to night. 
The air was charged with it. The crude familiarity 
of tobacco-smeared men bored him, their subjects 
of conversation were filthy, as low as their mental 
horizons. There was a lack of religion, of a know¬ 
ledge of God that was appaling. It was customary 
to see men with religion strike oil and then turn 
from God entirely. It was the way of the oil 
fields. When needy they turned to any and every 
source—even to prayer. In prosperity they were 
self-sufficient. 

Three days after the news broke the exodus had 
taken place, the town was practically deserted. 
Jack walked up and down main street and felt a 
smug satisfaction that he could do so without being 
ogled by women. He was not slapped on the back 
at every corner by booted men. No boistrous shout 
went up upon his appearance on the streets. Jack 
was well-liked everywhere although he was not 
a spender. In fact he had deposited $600 at the 
Commercial Bank. The only real friend that he 
had made was the bank teller, named Buster Chris¬ 
tian. The latter had been lured from his father’s 
ranch in Western Oklahoma by the boom. His 
father’s recommendation to the bank president lay 
unused in his pocket until Buster, disgusted with 
oil work, desired a change. His name had not been 


[ 83 ] 


WOLF MOON 


on file a day before he was notified that a position 
was open as 4 ‘handy man.” As the town grew so 
did the bank’s business and before long Buster 
was appointed teller. Upon Jack’s first visit to 
the teller’s window Buster observed that this youth 
was far different in appearance from the rank and 
file of the workers. As the weeks passed by he 
noted, too, that he differed because of his habit of 
banking part of his wages. Friendship sprang up 
between them. 

Just before the bank closed one afternoon Jack 
casually dropped in to see Buster. The latter had 
some news for him: 

“Jack, I’m going to pull out for home tomorrow. 
I’m not needed here now. Beckon I could stay if 
I wanted to but I feel that I’m in the way. I’m 
going back to the ranch and you’re coming along. 
You’ve got to punch cattle and ride the range. 
You can’t tell me that you ever liked this oil work. 
You’re not fitted for it. But I’ll bet you a sack 
of gold you’ll like it home,” Buster was gesticu¬ 
lating through the iron window frame. 

“No, I can’t say that I ever liked oil work,” 
Jack admitted slowly, rather crestfallen, “but I 
suppose it could be worse.” 

‘ ‘ If anything is worse I would like to know what 
it is,” Buster exclaimed vehemently. “A booming 
oil town is one of the most infernal places on earth 


[ 84 ] 


LIQUID GOLD 


and a deserted one is a fright. I guess it will pick 
up again but I won’t be here when it does. I want 
to get back to the ranch and ride Nightmare in the 
evening and feel that old wind cut against my 
face. Just think! I have been here almost two 
years. Can’t see how I stayed away from the old 
ranch this long. When we get back we’ll let you 
ride Cordovan. He’s a big brute that pitches and 
rears and bites. He throws a fit every now and 
then and, boy, if you’re in the saddle, watch out. 
Are you game ? ’ ’ 

“Game? Why, I’m just yearning to throw my 
leg over that nag.” A smile broke across Jack’s 
face. 

“Out our way we call ’em critters, but a rose 
by any old name will smell as sweet. But I’m glad 
you’ll go. We’ll leave tomorrow if it’s suitable for 
you.” Buster turned to a bank patron while Jack 
sauntered off. 

Jack walked slowly back to his room. He sat in 
the same old chair by the window and gazed out 
at the deserted town. In his six months here he 
had not spent one happy day. His acquaintances 
had seemed so different from the gracious, polite 
people of the East. His only joy had been the 
daily letters from Janet, but of late Janet had not 
written so frequently. Her letters seemed colder, 
less newsy, as if written through sheer force of 


WOLF MOON 


habit. They did not show the tender concern of 
the first ones, nor an appreciation of his position, 
a lonesome one far from his Eastern friends. Was 
she forgetting? Did she believe that he was not 
succeeding as he should? Had someone come be¬ 
tween them? He banished the thought through a 
cloud of blue smoke and set to packing his trunk. 
But the thoughts recurred. All that afternoon he 
was obsessed with a wondering fear that he was 
losing out somewhere, that his western trip was 
proving a failure. The oil venture had turned to 
dust. Now he was casting about for some place 
to go. Were it not for Buster Christian’s offer he 
would be without destination. 

After supper Jack again mounted the shak¬ 
ing stairs and sat by the open window as he 
had done a hundred times before. Thoughts 
seemed to roll up to him from out there in 
the oil fields that lay quiet as a forest. In 
his six months in Oklahoma he had accomplished 
little or nothing. Fall and winter had come and 
gone. Spring was pipping the brown trees on the 
rocky ridges into green leaves. Butterflies danced 
giddily in the sunshine and in a few yards petun¬ 
ias bloomed through the sheen of oil and grime. 

For the first time since he had come west Jack 
sagged into a spirit of discouragement. Some inner 
urge was telling him to give up the western life 


LIQUID GOLD 


and go back home. Janet would be glad, he felt. 
He would have to admit that the oil game had 
proven unprofitable in his case. But after all there 
was no shame in this confession. He was asking 
himself why he should remain longer in Oklahoma. 
Why go farther west? Perhaps, he would like 
ranch life no better than the oil fields. Cowboys, 
as a rule, were not of a higher stamp than oil 
men. They, too, used guns and split infinitives and 
the like. 

It would be Springtime home and the world 
would be verdant and beautiful. The brown clods 
of earth had greened and become dotted with red 
and purple flowers. The hillslopes were covered 
with frail anemoies and nodding heads of butter' 
cups; the blue waters of the Delaware were washing 
against the banks, warming under April suns. But 
here in Oklahoma the red earth only looked redder 
under the glaring heat. At noon the actinic rays 
burned as if through lens, blistering the ground as 
seashore suns do the skin. It sent the lounging 
men to cover and brought on that sickening buzz 
of overgrown flies in store windows. 

A sudden decision startled him. Instinctively 
he found himself throwing his belongings into his 
trunk. He picked up a blue envelope on the corner 
of which was embossed “The Savage Oil Com¬ 
pany.” “That’s where they stuck me for one 


[ 87 ] 


WOLF MOON 


hundred berries. Two thousand feet of dust. 
Never again. ’ ’ He threw the oil lease into a corner 
of the trunk. “I’ll take it home and show Dad 
the business head of his young son.” Jack forced 
a laugh from himself with effort. 

His trunk packed Jack strolled down to the 
edge of the town. There was a quietness that was 
in strange contrast to the noise and bustle of the 
week before. A large group of derricks stood 
like stalagmites dropped from the skies by a provi¬ 
dent God. There w r as no creaking of pumps, no 
bright flare of gas, no figures darting here and 
there. The moon rose over the field of wooden 
ghosts throwing shadows on the earth. It appeared 
like a battle ground with its engines of warfare 
deserted. An automobile in the distance was cast¬ 
ing its light high into the sky and then down upon 
the road. It made the only sound save discordant 
singing that broke out spasmodically. Jack win¬ 
der ed to the eastern end of the field and then tak¬ 
ing one more glance at the moon-drenched derricks, 
turned back toward the village. It was his last 
night in the oil fields of Oklahoma. 

Near the town a wild shriek split the night’s 
silence. Then all w T as quiet. It sounded like the 
voice of a woman, terrified, facing death. Jack 
stopped, listened and walked on. If it were worth 
noting the paper would tell of it on the morrow. 
The uncanny shriek sickened him more than ever. 

[ 88 ] 


LIQUID GOLD 


lie was glad that he was leaving. Jack purposely 
passed under Buster Christian’s window where he 
observed a light. In answer to Jack’s whistle 
Buster appeared. Jack was about to break the 
news to him of his decision to return home. 

4 ‘What are you doing wandering around this 
hour of the night? I’m packed. Are you ready 
to go ? Remember the train leaves at 6:45. ’ ’ 

“Say, Buster-” Jack began hesitatingly. 

“Say nothing. I know what you’re going to 
say. That girl of yours has changed your mind. 
Well you’re coming with me and forget her for a 
while. You’re going out home and tone up a little 
before you hop back East.” 

“That’s fine, Buster, but you know-” 

“No, I don’t know. All I know is that you’re 
coming with me tomorrow and I’m not going to 
take no for an answer. So trot along and pack 
up. The very idea of judging Oklahoma by its 
oil towns. Boy! wait until you get out under the 
stars back there on the plains. You’ll fall on my 
neck for bringing you home.” 

Buster disappeared and left Jack amazed, his 
mind swimming. What should he do ? Buster had 
shattered his decision in a moment. After all, he 
really wasn’t intensely eager to return home empty- 
handed. Jack paused for a moment under the win¬ 
dow and there floated out to him Buster’s merry 




WOLF MOON 


whistle. It sounded cheery out there in the moon¬ 
light. Jack surmised that there must be something 
worth while out there in the plains country, the 
anticipation of which made Buster so happy. Per¬ 
haps, too, it would clear away his depression. Jack 
swung across the street, passed a low building 
where a click of chips told him a game was in 
progress and then up under the overhanging 
wooden awnings. In the doorway of a pawnshop 
he observed the town sheriff talking with a tall, 
dark mustached man who drawled out a stiff ‘ ‘ Hell, 
No! ’ 9 It was characteristic oil town language. 
Jack turned toward the stairway of his room and 
watched how the moonlight flooded the vestibule, 
the steps, the worn out linoleum. With a leap he 
sprang up the stairs. He had decided. He would 
go West with Buster to find the secret of his hap¬ 
piness. 


Chapter VI. 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 

TT HE hot furnace breath of summer with its 
pageants of clean-cut clouds, was beginning to stir 
the dust devils on the plains. They swung into 
brown eddying vortexes that gathered debris and 
sand and swept across space until spent. There 
was a brilliance to the shine resembling white heat 
and the glare from the red earth with its seething 
waves burned one’s eyeballs like the flare from 
acetylene torches. 

The free life of the western plains appealed to 
Jack Corcoran. There was a different atmosphere 
here from Eastern Oklahoma, immensity, distance, 
a new freedom that enthralled and held him cap¬ 
tive. It was the same in the cool, crisp morning 
when the sun started its heat dizzy climb to the 
zenith as in the evening when the stars flung their 
faint shadows down upon an almost uninhabited 
world. As April gave way to May the rainy season 
broke, sending the rivers over their banks and 


[ 91 ] 



WOLF MOON 


cutting deep gullies in the washlands. From the 
Cimarron to the Kiamichi, the bottoms filled and 
lengthened across the lowlands. Down the entire 
run of the Canadian the wall of water roiled till 
it met the Arkansas and then on through the foot¬ 
hills of the Ozarks, breaking through here and 
there like a maddened mocassin, carrying bridges 
on its tawny crest. The Panhandle, burnt dry 
for ten months of the year, turned green under 
the freshets. The short grass took on a verdure 
that contrasted sharply to the dry brown hills of 
winter. But June brought the last heavy rains 
of the year and thence the soggy lowlands gave up 
their moisture to a festering sun. 

One morning in early June Jack stopped at the 
postoffice for the mail. But the letter he was ex¬ 
pecting from Janet did not arrive. With only the 
morning paper in hand he turned his pony back 
toward the Christian ranch. Far off to the East 
the rails of the Rock Island glistened under the 
full flush of morning sun. A few cumulous clouds 
seemed stranded in the sky as if loosened from a 
grand army that passed on in the night but now 
imprisoned by bars of gold. It was to be a day 
of torture for man and beast for already the green 
scorpions were scampering across the roads under 
the tall weeds. 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 


With head buried in the paper Jack read as he 
rode. Everything was news in the breezy little 
sheet, from the depredations of A1 Spencer’s train 
robbers in the Osage hills to the descriptions of 
the floods in Eastern Oklahoma. Deeply interested 
he failed to look ahead until Cordovan pricked his 
ears and whinnied. Jack looked up and was sur¬ 
prised to see in front of him a black pony with 
a girl tugging at the saddle cinch. She was looking 
directly at him as if in appeal. As Jack dis¬ 
mounted she again endeavored to tighten the 
broken girth. 

“Perhaps I can help you,” offered Jack as he 
advanced toward her. 

“Why, I believe this center-fire cinch is broken, 
but I could fix it if I had a knife.” 

“I can mend it in a moment,” declared Jack 
confidently, searching his vest pocket for a knife. 
Then observing the wet flanks of her pony, he 
added, “Looks as if you have done some hard 
riding. ’ ’ 

“Oh no, just around the ranch. Mrs. Trichell 
forbids me to go far unless its to the postoffice.” 

“Oh, are you a Trichell?” asked Jack with a 
show of surprise. 

“No, but I live there,” Louise was growing em- 
barrased under his questioning. 


[93] 


WOLF MOON 


“My name is Corcoran, Jack Corcoran, might 
I ask yours?” 

“Mine’s Louise. Thanks for your trouble. But 
I must be going to the postoffice. Mr. Trichell 
wants his paper,” Louise drew in the reins of her 
pony nervously and hastily placed her foot in the 
stirrup. 

Before Jack could speak again she had spurred 
her horse into a few short pitchy motions and dis¬ 
appeared toward the village. The paper slipped 
from his hand to the ground. 

“Well, what do you know about that? That’s 
the first time I ever saw that vision,” Jack, over¬ 
come with surprise, was speaking to himself. 
“She’s about the sweetest thing I’ve run across 
in Oklahoma. Louise! Can you beat me for not 
getting her last name. I have a good mind to wait 
for her until she returns. If it weren’t for old 
man Christian. He’s so darned anxious to read 
his paper. But I’ll see her again if I have to 
come out here every morning. That’s too good 
to let go by. And away out here in the Panhandle, 
too. Who would expect a dream like that here in 
this plains country ? ’ ’ And Jack turned and swept 
the horizon with his eye. A bunch of Christian’s 
cattle, a red blot on the green grass, was grazing 
on a slope that flung itself toward the sky. 


[94] 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 


Louise swept down the road, her face burning. 
There came crowding upon her a thousand ques¬ 
tions to which her mind, fired with embarrasment 
and emotion, hurled back a thousand questions. 
She could not understand the feverish flush of 
blood to her face and forehead. She was holding 
the saddle horn with a grip of steel. Then she 
slowly become conscious that her rowel was grooved 
against Thunderbird’s side, driving her into a mad 
gallop . Something about the stranger had awak¬ 
ened an inner fire until it flared up and raced to 
her heart and face. Even her fingers thrilled 
under the new intimation. An ineffectual survey 
of her feelings only dragged her deeper into a ques¬ 
tioning mood. Who was this stranger who talked 
so softly and was so deftly courteous? He was 
so different from anyone she had ever seen; there 
was not even a faint resemblance to any of the 
Trichell riders. She observed that he was a new 
comer to the country. She could tell that by his 
new hat and light spurs. Over and over she heard 
herself repeating “Jack Corcoran.” She had never 
known a name like that. 

Returning from the postoffice Louise looked 
longingly at the place where she had met him, at 
the footprints in the dust. She could have dis¬ 
mounted and traced them with her fingers. Down 
the road to the entrance of the Christian ranch 


[95] 


WOLF MOON 


she trailed the footsteps of his pony. She rejoiced 
at the fact that he lived so close. Perhaps it might 
mean future meetings. Flushed with the hope of 
seeing him again she nourished it with his remem¬ 
bered smile and pleasant ways. Louise turned in 
upon the Trichell ranch and flashed down under 
the cottonwoods. 

‘ 1 Oh, Mrs. Trichell, I met a stranger from Chris¬ 
tian ’s. A big, tall fellow who fixed my saddle 
cinch. It broke half way down to the village and 
he came along and offered to mend it.” Louise was 
breathless in her confession. 

‘ ‘ Oh, that must have been Buster Christian. He’s 
home from the oil fields, I hear,” answered Mrs. 
Trichell, with lack of great surprise, to Louise’s 
disappointment. 

“No, Mrs. Trichell, he said his name was Cor¬ 
coran, Jack Corcoran.” 

“Jack Corcoran!” she exclaimed. “Why I 
never heard of him. Where does he live ? ’ ’ 

“Over at Christians’, I believe, at least he 
turned in there.” 

“Well now, that’s news. What did he say, 
Louise f ’ ’ 

“Nothing. I don’t suppose I gave him time. You 
know I was so embarrased I just jumped on Thun- 
derbird and scooted down the road.” 


[96] 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 


Mrs. Trichell laughed at the picture. It was not 
long before she got in touch with Mrs. Christian. 
The latter told of Buster's acquaintance with Jack 
in Two Sands and of Buster’s persuading him to 
come to the ranch. 

From time to time Louise came across Jack either 
on the road to the village or in the town itself. 
Sometimes he appeared as if by magic as she rode 
near Roundtop. Again on errands at Christian’s 
ranch they inevitably came together. At first the 
meetings were of short duration for Louise still 
felt a wave of embarrasment sweep over her as he 
came in sight. Later, however, Jack and Louise 
lingered longer together. They made appointments 
in the evening and rode down the wide sweep of 
mesa to the south or skirted the ridge on the west¬ 
ern end of the range. Little did they realize they 
were shadowed by Tulane. They were too inter¬ 
ested in each other, Jack in her modest, demure 
ways and Louise in the stories Jack told her of the 
East, to entertain suspicion. Gradually Louise felt 
herself drawn toward him with irresistable affec¬ 
tion. From under her sombrero she stole glances 
at his manly, handsome face and loved his interest 
in her. She succumbed to his friendship with a 
resistance that came only from innate modesty. In 
the evening under the cottonwoods she found her¬ 
self gazing across to the Christian herd where Jack 


4 


[97] 


WOLF MOON 


was riding. At night his remembered image 
came stealing into her room where for hours she 
lay punching the pillow into conducive sleep. 

Jack’s friendship for Louise grew stronger and 
was marked by an ever-increasing enmity between 
him and Tulane. The latter boasted of his love for 
Louise. Over in Terlton his affection for her was 
common talk. This was brought about by Tulane, 
who spoke of her as his girl and even went so far 
as to name dates when he was to marry her. Kising 
within Louise was a bitter feeling of distrust and 
misgiving, of suspicion and hate, that at times ap¬ 
proximated a loathing. Her courtesy to him, 
which was extended to all the boys, was ill taken. 
A chance smile and Baisan feasted on it from sun¬ 
up to sundown. He felt a sense of appropiation 
as of something that rightfully belonged to him. 

Jack’s first intimation of Tulane’s infatuation 
came after a meeting with Louise. Tulane dashed 
up fiery-eyed, muttering curses. The savagery of 
the man rushed to his throat. 

“What yuh doin’ meetin’ here?” he blurted 
wildly. 

“Who wants to know?” Jack glared at him 
coldly. 

She’s my gal and I don’t want furriners like 
you hangin’ ’round. She’s mine and I brought 
her here to this ranch. So yuh jis keep yure eyes 


[ 98 ] 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 


peeled mister. Yuh get it straight.’’ Tulane jerked 
Nep’s bridle until the horse stood erect. Then he 
prodded him into a wild lurch and dashed away 
at an angle. 

Jack was left with mouth open. “Say, who does 
he think he is? His girl. Where does he get the 
right of possession? Louise has something to say 
about that. I’ll show that greaser that he can’t 
bluff me.” 

Later Jack told Buster of his meeting Tulane. 

“I meant to put you wise, Jack. Watch out for 
him. Everybody in Texas county knows Tulane 
and fears him. We have heard that he is wanted 
in Galveston. He came into these parts myster¬ 
iously. Dad declares that he’s a spy of some sort. 
I think he’s just a plain darn fool. But he’s a 
hair-trigger man. He carries his gun low, easy 
to draw. I’ve never had a run-in with him but 
our words are few and far between. He’s a 
treacherous cuss. He may be in league with some 
of the cattle rustlers. Bud Simpson, our best 
rider, swears he saw him last night talking to the 
Dorados.” 

“Who are the Dorados?” asked Jack, struck by 
the peculiar name. 

“Never told you? Well they’re a gang that 
hangs out over in Navajo Gulch when they’re in 
this part of the country. Periodically they dis- 



WOLF MOON 


appear and no one knows just where they go. They 
may rustle cattle over in New Mexico and sell ’em 
down at Clayton. Anyway when they come back 
they strut around the village and gamble at Tup- 
perts, that’s the gambling joint next to the Post- 
office. They’re back in town now—came back yes¬ 
terday. You can tell ’em on sight, two big strap¬ 
ping giants with red beards. They carry rifles on 
their saddles and wear green corduroy shirts. We’ll 
ride in tonight and take a look at them.” 

After supper Jack and Christian waited until 
dark and set out for the village. Christian in¬ 
sisted upon Jack taking his six-shooter. A moon 
was due to rise—late. They mounted their ponies 
and turned into the main road in a canter. Over¬ 
head a star or two had swung into life, heralds of 
a million others. The night air was warm, while 
through it skimmed and darted bullbats in jubilant 
buoyancy. Jack was telling a story of his college 
life when Buster stopped him for a moment. Above 
the squeaking of the saddles could be heard the 
footsteps of an approaching horse. Someone was 
riding hard toward them. 

“Wonder who that could be?” dropped from 
Buster’s lips. 

A rider dashed around the curve near the alfalfa 
meadow and reined in his pony. It was Duke 
Mitchell, one of Trichell’s cowboys. 


[ 100 ] 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 


“Say, boys, I believe there’s something stirring 
tonight. Jake Tuppert tells me the Dorado boys 
left Terlton about dusk armed to the teeth. He 
swore he heard them say they were off for the Tye 
Valley ranch. That’s to the North of here about 
twenty miles, which makes me believe there’s going 
to be something doin’ down our way. When the 
Dorados say they’re going North then watch out 
for the South cattle. They haven’t struck in these 
parts for about two years and the time’s ripe. 
’Nother thing makes me suspect something’s going 
on is that Tulane left Circle H at about four 
o’clock to round up some strays near the gulcli 
and he ain’t a showed up since. Tuppert swears 
he saw Tulane with the Dorados down near the 
split. Boys I’m off.” 

“How about our cattle, Chris?” questioned Jack 
with alarm. 

“Fenced in tighter than a sardine. Of course 
those Dorados can cut a fence as easily as a shark 
can a carrot but Fred Catt and Ted Ogg are out 
there with them. They keep their eyes open when 
the Dorados are around.” 

Terlton was staging no disturbance. A few men 
swung their feet from the boxcars at the siding. 
Down at Tuppert’s several tables were occupied by 
men all known to Buster, riders in from nearby 
ranches. Boistrous laughter burst from the corner 


[101] 


WOLF MOON 


coffee shop where several cowmen ate. Occasionally 
a rider’s spurs rang on the pavement. Here and 
there a pony stood tied to a long iron pipe that 
served as a hitching post, their flopping ears giving 
them a dejected appearance. Two riders swung 
in from the crossroads, jogging easily, throwing 
their sombreroed shadows against the long row of 
warehouses. A sudden peal from a kicking pony 
started a series of biting and teeth-snapping along 
the line, accompanied by sharp squeals. A rider’s 
mount reared and pitched, stamped and caracoled, 
bringing a chorus of “Ride ’em cowboy” from a 
sitting group of cattlemen. 

“Dorados are not in town,” remarked Buster. 
“You could tell their horses at a glance. Well, 
there’s nothing stirring. Let’s go to the movies. 
If anything happens the news will spread in that 
place like wildfire.” 

The only moving picture house the town could 
boast was not a parlor. There were peanut shells 
an inch deep on the floor. Once upon a time an 
enterprising agent had installed candy-slot ma¬ 
chines that were fastened on the backs of the seats. 
But they were useless relics of a past day. Spurs 
and high-heeled boots had scratched the varnish off 
the seats. Few patrons had been enticed inside 
by the flaring blood and thunder signboards nailed 
to the outside wall. 


[102] 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 


The program featured a picture Jack had seen 
two years before. It was scratched, thumbprinted, 
broken and flickered from the first moment it was 
thrown on the screen. It caught fire twice and 
the time consumed in mending it was punctuated 
with loud handclapping and ribald remarks. 

“That’s Sanders, our sheriff, sitting down there 
in the third row,” Buster informed Jack, indi¬ 
cating a large, dark man with a round haircut. 
“Has more nerve than six white men.” Buster 
called to Sanders who came over and joined them. 

After introducing Jack, Buster spoke: 

“By the way, Sanders, I hear the Dorados are 
back. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ They are and they ain’t. Took out tonight fer 
somewhere, but God only knows whare. I’m 
scenting trouble. But you can’t pin ’em down. 
I jes know they have bin gittin’ cattle out of this 
heah country, but nobody has seen ’em. All they 
know is that the cattle go when the Dorados go. 
I guess if anybody did see ’em they wouldn’t live 
to tell about it. The biggest Dorado boy is a terror. 
He’s got notches on both sides of his gun and then 
under it. He showed it to me one day heah about 
two years ago and he winked at me when he said, 
‘Still got room for more.’ I’ve a good mind to 
go over to the Gulch and see who they left behind. ’ ’ 


[103] 


WOLF MOON 


“Well, if you do well go along. Let’s go now 
this picture is a nightmare.” 

Twenty minutes later the trio turned in on the 
Trichell ranch just below Roundtop. Jack noticed 
Sanders had a gun strapped on either side. For 
the first time in his life he felt as if he were about 
to undergo an experience worth writing home 
about. He reached for his own gun and its touch 
brought a bit of comfort and protection. 

The trio dismounted near the Gulch and tied 
their horses to the underbrush. Sanders crept on 
hands and knees toward the brink followed by Jack 
and Buster. The broad depression lay below them 
like a canyon, its sloping sides fading into the 
gloom of the abyss. The three listened. The wind 
rustled in the blackjacks but there was no other 
sound. 

“That’s queer,” Sanders whispered, “the whole 
crowd must be out on a picnic. Wait! Is that a 
light over there?” 

All three peered through the darkness. Down 
toward the west end of the Gulch a few sparks 
sprang into the air. 

“Looks to me as if someone is kicking out a 
camp fire, ’ ’ declared Buster. 

Sanders agreed. “Buster, you go follow the 
Gulch around to the left. I’ll go the right and 
Corcoran, you stay here and watch the horses. 


[104] 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 


Something’s in the air as sure as you live. Putting 
out that fire is significant. Maybe they saw us. ’ ’ 
As Sanders disappeared Jack lay flat on his 
stomach and glued his eyes to the spot where he 
imagined the fire lay. A little higher up a brood 
of sparks lay scattered in the blue, color-firing the 
heavens. Far-off the noises of the insect world 
composed a dirge. It was the summer song of 
heat and joy, of green leaves and grass and trees. 
The stunted oaks flung down their shadows into 
the Gulch, filling it with brooding, mystic forms. 
It would be a fitting place to stage a tragedy for 
the wind and darkness alone to know. It could 
produce a myriad of winged creatures by peering 
down into its bottomless maw. Night had mantled 
it with Stygian darkness. The wind sang through 
the sage, stopped, then stirred. 

Jack put his ear to the ground in Indian fashion. 
A queer sort of rumble as if of a locomotive passing 
through a distant canyon struck his ear, faintly. 
He lifted his head to listen intently. There was 
no foreign sound. He repeated the procedure sev¬ 
eral times until he was certain he heard a deep 
rumbling noise as if the earth were quaking from 
within, or the far-off murmur of a cataract. 

In a few moments the distant roar became 
greater. Cordovan neighed shrilly while the other 
horses pulled nervously at their bridles. Jack 

[105] 

4 * 


WOLF MOON 


rose to his feet with the intention of running back 
to quiet them but he had no sooner started for the 
trees than be dropped flat. In the distance a black 
mass of cattle was moving toward the Gulch. He 
could hear the noise from their hoofs, the mad bel¬ 
lowing, the clicking of horns one against the other, 
the wild shouting of men. In an instant Jack 
realized he could not cover the intervening distance 
to the trees. He turned and ran toward the Gulch. 
Over his shoulder came the sound of the panting 
and blowing leaders. With a quick leap Jack 
reached the side of the gorge and pulled himself 
under the rim. In a moment the cattle had come, 
bawling, snorting, sending showers of dust and 
dirt into the air, hiding the sky and stars. One 
by one they leaped down the incline, urged by 
those from behind. Hundreds of them rolled on 
and on, a never-ending mass, falling, stumbling, 
uttering queer sounds from their panting throats. 
One rolled over the side and down, its hard roofs 
pounding dangerously near Jack’s body. The 
herd buckled, but plunged on, creating a grind¬ 
ing, grating uproar. Gradually they were 
wearing down the edge, sending big cakes of 
dust and dirt pattering down upon him. Eiders 
followed them with loud curses, yelling and shout¬ 
ing to the hesitating and stubborn, their high- 
pitched voices mingled with the raucous bellowing 


[106] 


A WARNING FROM TULANE 


of the steers. Jack lay coiled under the ledge until 
the last rider disappeared. Then flashing like ig¬ 
nited powder in his face came the dread realization 
of it all. They were rustlers, driving cattle down 
the Gorge and out through the Southern end where 
there was no fence or boundary. From there they 
could cut back to the plains and through toward 
Texas. Jack felt that they were the Trichell cattle. 
The rustlers must have come upon them suddenly 
on the range and with loud whoops started them 
toward the Gulch. Jack looked down into the 
black gorge where the faint forms of the cattle 
were sending pillars and sheets of dust whirling 
up toward the western slope. The thought that 
the Trichell cattle were being rustled off made him 
spring to his feet eager to give the alarm. Jack 
reached for his gun and aimed it toward the sky. 

Crack! 

A sharp, sudden pain shot through his shoulder, 
electrifying it with a million needles. Simultan¬ 
eously he saw a spear of light dart from the ridge 
above. He swung to see who had shot him. Sil¬ 
houetted against the moon just peeping over the 
Trichell ranch he saw the familiar outline of Tu- 
lane Baisan. Jack dropped like a plummet just 
as a report came from Sanders’ gun over to the 
right. Another echo sounded from the left. Then 
the valley burst into flame. A dozen guns blazed 


[107] 


WOLF MOON 


forth, breaking the pitch blackness with daubs of 
sputtering fire. Before each flash the wild-eyed 
cattle tossed their horns and dashed on, stumbling 
and stamping. 

Jack swung his gun in front of him. Tulane 
sat picturesque on his horse, his large Mexican hat 
blotting out the light of the moon. In his hand 
was grasped a smoking gun. To Jack it appeared 
as it he were about to shoot again. Jack aimed at 
Tulane and pulled the trigger. 

His gun jerked like a nervous broncho, throwing 
his. hand high in the air A streak of fire three 
feet long shot from the barrel, while a puff of pun¬ 
gent, whitish smoke mingled with the night air 
and stood like a wall in front of him. Down 
through the pall of smoke crept the moon’s rays 
and silvered it. Slowly it lifted as if carried up on 
the shoulders of the ages. 

Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. 


[108] 


Chapter VII. 


THE STUMBLING FIGURE 

T' HE large silver maples lining the walks of 
Fairmount Park always were a source of interest 
to John Corcoran, Senior. From his little rendez¬ 
vous near the river bluffs he loved to watch the 
leaves expose their silver sheen under the evening 
breeze. At times it meant the coming of a storm 
from over the Jersey flats, at others the usual 
balmy breezes that go with early summer days. 
Here on his bench under the beeches and dogwoods 
he found a peace and quiet that brought on recol¬ 
lective moods. Nature nurtured the tranquility, 
the clouds, the soughing wind, the great, green 
hills. Out upon the Schuylkill craft sped up and 
down under the high bridges spanning the river. 
Little children gathered wild flowers on the cliffs 
and wove them into wreathes. Nurses rolled their 
baby cabs along the walks growing dusty from the 
heat. Into this seclusion filtered no beats from 
the city’s heart that pounded and throbbed from 


[109 1 



WOLF MOON 


morn to night. Noisy marts, steamboat and fac¬ 
tory whistles, the grind and bustle of traffic, were 
hemmed in between grim walls of steel and stone. 
Nature was sacred here with notes and moods that 
modernism dare not rob. 

But the dreams that the man fell into were not 
Lengthy. They vanished with the mists that rose 
from the dark waters. Often they made him pull 
at his cigar nervously, again gaze into space as 
if searching for something that time had veiled. 
It was as mystical to him as the future that lay 
ahead. The more he reflected on the event that 
had broken him in spirit the more he threw his 
thoughts into the future, hoping against hope, but 
relying upon the goodness of God. 

“Just fifteen years ago this month Joey has been 
gone. Fifteen long years. ’’ His chin dropped and 
with eyes lowered he let memories come trooping 
back. Then he shook his head slowly as if to 
fling away the sentimental mood that obsessed him. 
A thousand times before he had done the same 
and a thousand times had risen and stridden out 
into the darkness to dispell the memory. But 
phantoms of the past haunted him, broke him 
down, yet, queerly, he clung to them tenaciously 
at times and at others dashed them aside with 
abandon. Under the weight he lay crushed, tor¬ 
tured, begging for a reprieve from the memory 


[110] 


THE STUMBLING FIGURE 


that burned by day and seared his brain by night. 

Since Jack had left for Oklahoma his father 
had become shaken by moody spells. The death 
of his wife had left him lonely and saddened, with 
only the comfort of his son to bear up under the 
blistering blow. Year after year it laid his soul 
open on the anvil of torture, hammering it, for 
John Corcoran loved his wife with that tender and 
deep affection that sprang from the confidence he 
had reposed in her. Her death had been followed 
by the demise of his college chum, Lester Hath¬ 
away, and wife, in a railway wreck. The grief 
at the loss of his wife thus was supplemented by 
the blow. It was a double tragedy that stalked 
down each morning and evening of his life, taking 
possession of it, leaving him fit for nothing but 
dreamy seances and moods to which nature con¬ 
demned him as a penance for dwelling too length¬ 
ily upon the misfortune. 

John Corcoran felt it his bounden duty to care 
for the Hathaway children, Janet and Joey. He 
would have taken them both into his house but 
with his own wife dead, he feared the responsibility 
of raising two orphaned children. Had Mrs. Cor¬ 
coran lived it would have been different. Keen 
delight and satisfaction would have come with the 
rearing of the lovely offspring of his college com¬ 
rade. But it was impossible under the circum- 


[111] 


WOLF MOON 


stances. Janet was turned over to the Gallaghers 
who had no children of their own and Joey was 
adopted by John Tipton and his wife, a young 
couple who lived close to the Corcorans when in 
Georgia. But Tipton believed that fields were 
green far away and upon an offer from Chicago 
went West. 

For one year Tipton corresponded with Corcoran 
who entertained a lively interest in both Janet and 
Joey. Then came a letter from Tipton telling of 
his intention to move to St. Louis. That was the 
last Corcoran ever heard from him. Whether he 
reached St. Louis or not he never knew. There fol¬ 
lowed months of anxiety on the part of Corcoran, 
days of solicitous thought for Joey. He bought 
Chicago and St. Louis papers in the hope of gain¬ 
ing a tidbit of news of them. He even advertised in 
the personal columns of western papers. But noth¬ 
ing came of it. His keen solicitude was not re¬ 
warded by even an inkling of information. Mr. and 
Mrs. Tipton had disappeared with Joey as if swal¬ 
lowed by some unrecorded earthquake. Corcoran’s 
surmise was that they had struck a streak of mis¬ 
fortune but that sooner or later they would show 
up in the East. At present Joey should be big and 
strong and about eighteen years of age, perhaps 
attending college. 

Fifteen years seemed a long time for Senior Cor- 


THE STUMBLING FIGURE 


coran. They had taken their toll of his sprightliness 
and cheer, had narrowed his wide horizon, drawn 
his life taut as if with steel bands. They were 
filled with prayer and resignation, hope and des¬ 
pair. His only recourse for consolation had been 
to the little shrine in the Northern part of the 
city. For years he had prayed at St. John’s church 
in the heart of Philadelphia. Every evening he 
recited his beads before the tabernacle where faith 
told him reposed the Holy of Holies. In storm 
and sunshine he had come and prayed, prayed for 
the repose of the soul of his beloved wife and for 
the return of Joey. 

Often as he prayed large crowds come to ador¬ 
ation at some evening service. The candles blinked 
upon the altar, the incense rose in perfumed clouds 
from the censer while sacred music sounded from 
the choir; the chanting of litanies, the footfalls in 
the aisles and the striking of chimes as a hush 
came down over the congregation did not distract 
the bent figure near the statue of the Blessed Vir¬ 
gin. Sometimes he joined in prayer, at others, 
apart he bent his head, clasped his hands before 
him and struck an attitude of devotion that came 
only from a contrite and suppliant mortal com¬ 
muning with his Maker. 

As years went by and no wisp or word of news 
came from the Tiptons or Joey, John Corcoran 


[113 1 


WOLF MOON 


faltered not. He prayed the harder. He had been 
taught that God in His wisdom knew best, that 
perhaps some unrecognized form of grace had de¬ 
scended upon his life, some unseen hand delivered 
him from tribulation. But he would continue his 
prayers for Joey. Some day the veil of mystery 
would be rent. 

One evening when he had left the park and his 
walk carried him farther than usual he came upon 
a little chapel secluded among a grove of oaks. He 
heard the voices of a choir and stepping inside 
observed a statue of the Little Flower of Jesus. 
He had heard of the wonderful intercession of this 
little servant of God, had read her life, that of a 
holy Carmelite nun who died at the age of 25 in 
1897. There was something ineffably sweet and 
tender about her being. Then, too, a great devo¬ 
tion toward her had sprung up in every corner 
of the world. Especially was this so in America. 
An inner prompting urged him to pray to her that 
she might intercede with God and find Joey. 
Accordingly he visited the chapel every evening 
and sent up his prayers in the little shrine, at 
times lighted by the summer sun, and at others 
poured out his soul with only the glistening 
votive lights throwing their shadows on the win¬ 
dows, stained with the life and death mementoes 
of the Savior. The tabernacle light like a large 


[114] 


THE STUMBLING FIGURE 


ruby glowed in the dim enclosure of the sanctuary. 
Faint, pungent odor clinging to the feathery wisps 
of incense suspended above the altar told him that 
Benediction had been held shortly before. But 
his prayer was ever the same. Like Evangeline 
pursuing her lover he was convinced that some 
day he would find Joey, not tomorrow, nor the next 
day, but before he should be called home . 

On a late June evening Corcoran was sauntering 
along the path near the park gates with an ob¬ 
session of sad memories. A large machine set its 
brakes and screeching came to a sudden stop under 
the high pillars. A voice from the machine hailed 
him. 

“Oh, Mr. Corcoran, won’t you ride with us?” 

It was Janet Hathaway and a friend of hers, 
Chester Simpson. Of late Janet had displayed 
a particular friendship for Simpson. The latter, 
a young chap just out of college, fell in love with 
Janet upon first sight. 

Mr. Corcoran had observed a cooling off of the 
friendship between Janet and Jack. This had 
disappointed him. The affection between Janet 
and his son lighted a spark of pride in the elder 
Corocran. He encouraged its development al¬ 
though at no time did he design marriage. He 
felt that the companionship of the two would ripen 
into a love that would later mean a joining of the 
families. 


[115] 


WOLF MOON 


“Have you heard from Jack lately, Mr. Cor¬ 
coran?” began Janet with a trifling show of 
interest. 

“Yes, I had a letter from him today. He was 
asking for you. He remarked that he had not 
heard from you for quite a time.” He did not 
hesitate to repeat Jack’s concern over her forget¬ 
fulness. 

‘ ‘ I almost feel ashamed to admit that I neglected 
to answer his last letter. Jack seemed so enthus¬ 
iastic over ranch life. I was rather disappointed 
when he left the oil fields and did not return 
home.” 

“Yes, Jack is exhuberant over the West. He 
has told me so much about the ranch, the horses, 
and the cattle, that I have almost made my mind 
to go out there and visit him this summer. I 
would like to see the sweep of the plains, the 
horsemen and the large herds of cattle. It must 
be a very interesting country from all that Jack 
tells me about it. Then, too, he declares the 
people are friendlier and more hospitable. Jack 
has asked me out to see how he can ride his horse 
Cordovan. He wants me to learn to ride and has 
selected a nice gentle horse for me. He calls it 
‘a kid-gloved, hand-painted critter’.” 

“Oh, isn’t that too silly for words. But that’s 
like Jack to describe a horse that way,” remarked 


[116 1 


THE STUMBLING FIGURE 


Janet, failing to understand Jack’s sense of 
humor. 

“By the way, Mr. Gallager was telling me that 
you all might go out to the Grand Canyon this 
summer,” recalled Senior Corcoran. “I wonder 
if we couldn’t arrange to go together and stop 
to see Jack. I believe Terlton is on the main Rock 
Island line to the coast.” 

“Oh, that would be perfectly wonderful. I am 
going to find out tonight from Mrs. Gallagher. I 
would just adore seeing the Grand Canyon.” Mr. 
Corcoran paused after her answer, expecting her 
to declare, too, her desire of seeing Jack. 

“Jack would be glad to see us all. Couldn’t 
you come along Mr. Simpson?” 

“No, I believe not. Father is going to Europe 
this summer and he wants to leave me in charge 
of the office. Which means that I will have a 
belated vacation. But I would like to see the 
West.” 

“Oh, Chester, of course you can come,” Janet 
expostulated. “That’s stupid to say that you 
can’t.” She turned on him in feigned indignation. 

“Well, when Dad says a thing he means it. He 
declared last night that no one just out of school 
should have a rest. He believes college life is four 
year’s vacation.” 


[117] 


WOLF MOON 


“Well! Well! that’s interesting,” laughed 
Senior Corcoran. “Would you mind letting me 
out here, Mr. Simpson? I believe its only a short 
walk now to my destination. ’ ’ 

Senior Corcoran bade goodbye as he stepped 
from the car. Janet waved to him as he cut across 
the street and walked under a high wall where 
the shadows from an arc light played upon the 
walk. He appeared worried, the furrows of his 
forehead narrowed and sank. A strange sensation, 
alternately hot and cold, fluctuated in his body. 

“I wonder should I acquaint Jack of her friend¬ 
ship with Simpson.” He stopped thoughtfully for 
a moment under a line of rustling maples and then 
started. ‘ ‘ It seems it is almost due my boy. ’ ’ He 
passed on under the canopy of trees musing to him¬ 
self. The night was warm, summery while the air 
felt spiritless. A locust trilled its weary monotone 
adding a note of depression to the moment. 

A little further he turned down a small street 
where the breeze was cut off by the high houses. 
Wall upon wall they rose in dreary perspective, 
the tall roofs touching, as it were, the heavens alive 
with fiery points. A machine spun around a cor¬ 
ner in the distance and came toward him, speeding. 
He heard a familiar laugh and glanced at the car 
as it flashed by. It had two occupants. The man 
had his arm around the girl and was steering with 


[118] 


THE STUMBLING FIGURE 


one hand. The car shot under an arc light and 
in a rapid look Corcoran halted with a shudder. 
It was Janet and her friend Simpson. 

A tremor of surprise and shame, of heartburning 
disappointment shot through his frame. Strug¬ 
gling under a paroxysm of battling moods he 
gazed until the car was lost amid the night noises 
of the street. A dark frown born of piqued pride 
crept down from the forehead of Senior Corcoran 
until it showed on his face. His heart beat a heavy 
roll under the turbulent warfare of his feelings. 
A new breeze starting into life intensified the chill 
that at times swept the heat from his face. He 
looked around for a place to seat himself, the sur¬ 
prise had weakened him. Persons sitting on their 
front steps watched the man believing him queer. 

“No, no,” he stammered to himself, “Jack shall 
never know it. It is well that this happened. For¬ 
gotten Jack, her playmate, in this short time. In 
less than-” 

The thought made him start down the street. 
His steps were maudlin, he staggered but held to 
his feet. Phantomlike he plunged here and there 
along the pavement as if a part of the night’s 
shadows. 

“Forgotten Jack! Forgotten Jack! I’m glad 
I saw. God is good.” The words streamed forth 
in soul-stirring impulse. He was speaking aloud, 


[119] 



WOLF MOON 


unconsciously. From a doorway a woman looked 
out upon the creature muttering by and pitied 
him. Some poor soul caught up with trouble, she 
thought. On and on, with no destination, now 
through a side street, poorly lighted and narrow, 
he passed, and on, stumbling on the uneven pave¬ 
ment but catching his drooping figure before it 
fell. Before long he had reached the wide streets 
where the stars came through, streets whose centers 
were breasted with fragrant shrubs and close- 
cropped lawns. He had space to breathe here and 
his lungs expanded as if breaking the steel bands 
that bound them. Farther on he looked up. There 
was no foilage overhead, nothing but the blue-black 
sky cushion with its golden pins. A faint light 
streamed hazily across the sky, a wadding in which 
were caught a host of far-off worlds. Out under 
the rushing wind and bending branches he could 
live. Life seemed to come stealing down to feed 
his lungs from the light that peeped from the 
million windows of the sky. 

A half hour later the bent figure came to a 
gravelled walk leading to the small chapel. He 
wanted to rush inside and bury his face in his 
arms but his lungs, burning under the evening’s 
strain, cried to remain outside under the breathing 
of the night. A bird flew startled from its roosting 
place as this dark figure stalked down under the 


[120] 


THE STUMBLING FIGURE 


trees. The air was redolent with the fragrance of 
summer flowers and pungent shrubs. 

Senior Corcoran entered the chapel and knelt 
before the statute of the Little Flower. It rep¬ 
resented to him all the beauty left in the world. 
He prayed to her whom the statue represented. 
An indefinable thing seemed to rush across his 
soul transporting him. Through an open window 
came a flood of air that cooled his head and hands, 
feverish and heated. The little red light darting 
high and low before the Tabernacle told him that 
God was there and God is always good. He would 
pray more earnestly than ever. He bowed his head 
and a strange calm settled over him. Though it 
came filing memories of his wife, Jack, Joey. 
Where was Joey now? God would hasten Joey’s 
steps back to him some day he felt certain. For 
a lengthy spell Corcoran’s face lay buried in his 
hands. He lifted his head slowly and looking up, 
gazed at the statue of the Little Flower, standing 
there in holy calm. A peculiar light seemed to 
suffuse itself over it, brightening the breast, the 
feet. A stronger effulgence selected the face and 
made her features stand out in its marble lines. 
Was it miraculous? He turned and saw; it was 
the moonlight streaming through the open window. 
The queenly orb had risen over the bold heave of 
hills in the East, flooding the landscape with a 


[ 121 ] 


WOLF MOON 


transparent silver gauze. It came pouring into 
the chapel making brilliant the rail, the tabernacle, 
the linens upon the altar. Corcoran likened it to 
the Holy Grail, for down those moonbeams stole 
a thousand fancies fashioned fairylike around Jack 
and Joey. 

The silence and the moonlight conspired to form 
a background for his grief and inundated his soul 
as a river on rampage. Tears trickled down upon 
his large hands. Joey! Where was Joey? Could 
God in His omnipotence find the child who seemed 
swallowed in the crater of the past? 

Once more he lifted his face and through his 
tears looked up to the sweet face of the statue. 
Like a sword dropping from a great height a pain 
stab rsuhed through his heart. His mind flashed 
back to Jack in Oklahoma. A vision showed him 
writhing in pain, crying for help, lifting his 
hands in appeal for aid but there was none. He 
was out somewhere on the plains or the desert, 
alone, under the stars, his voice plaintive. If he 
could only reach him, take hold of his hand and 
press it to his breast, and protect him from some 
strange, unseen enemy. Somewhere off in the dis¬ 
tance were mountains that threw their high shad¬ 
ows down upon his form, bleeding and prostrate. 

Senior Corcoran rubbed his eyes as if clearing 
a spotted web. They had been staring at the 


[ 122 ] 


THE STUMBLING FIGURE 


statue. It was only a vision. The moonlight and 
the silence had brought it on. Thankful, full of 
prayer, he buried his face once more and sobbed 
and through them came low words, charged with 
sentiment and love, asking the Little Flower to 
intercede for Jack before the throne of God. He 
felt that his son was pleading to him, imploring 
his aid out there under the stars in Oklahoma. 


I 123 ] 


Chapter VIII. 


“BLOCK THE GULCH” 

"WHEN the puff of smoke lifted Jack looked up 
for Tulane. A disappearing black splotch near 
the underbrush, a wild silhouette against the 
Eastern sky told him he had missed his man. A 
moment later the shadow bobbed into view higher 
up on the sloping shelf. Then it was gone. Jack 
muttered in his astonishment. 

On the other side of the gulch stacatto deton¬ 
ations broke out upon the night air. High on the 
Western ridge Jack could see Sanders’ gun flashing 
while deep down in the valley bright streaks of 
light followed by whimpering reports told him 
the rustlers were taking pot shots back at the 
sheriff. 

Jack, forgetting his pain, ran to Cordovan and 
leaped to the saddle in a bound. He knew that 
the only outlet to the gulch was down at the lower 
end and this could not be reached by Sanders 
because of the intervening bluff. The rustlers 


[ 124 ] 



“BLOCK THE GULCH” 


were driving the cattle toward the narrow outlet. 
Once there all would be won. The herd would be 
hastened on down through the plains to the Texas 
border where it would be impossible to apprehend 
the thieves. Full consciousness of the impending 
danger swept upon Jack like the light of a full 
moon bathing the plains. He swung the pony, 
drove his spurs deep and leaped forward as if 
catapulted. 

Cordovan pitched for a moment unused to such 
handling. Then, seeming to realize the importance 
of speed, he galloped into a red, hurtling mass. 
The night wind sang shrilly in Jack’s ears and 
brought tears to his eyes. Chaparral trees passed 
like small shadows fleeing backward. Over to the 
right he could see the cattle in the moonlight urged 
forward by the riders. Flashes of blinding light 
snapped out here and there. Cordovan stumbled 
sending a shower of sand high. He recovered. The 
rope whipped against Jack’s knee and beat back 
against the saddle. Not a half mile further lay 
the outlet, Jack’s goal, yet that of the rustlers. 
It seemed he was losing ground, that the great solid 
mass of cattle was sweeping before him. Jack real¬ 
ized that if one steer passed the entire herd would 
break through like the ocean surging past a rocky 
inlet. Alarmed with the thought and apprehend¬ 
ing that all would be lost if he failed to gain the 


[ 125 ] 


WOLF MOON 


pass he urged on Cordovan, who stretched lower 
under the command. A strange uncanny sensation 
took possession of Jack. It was as if the world 
was passing under Cordovan’s clicking hoofs. The 
mesa out and beyond the pass lay quiet, inviting, 
as if in suspense and waiting for tragedy. Insects 
in sluggish dirge halted as Jack rode by and as 
the clip clops mellowed into space, again began to 
voice their intonations of the night. A million 
acres seemed to speed away with each bound. Then 
something rocked; Cordovan was reaching the ir¬ 
regular, broken ground near the cliff, a precipice 
that dropped twenty feet to the valley slope below. 
If he could get down there safely he could circum¬ 
vent the herd, reach the pass in time and block 
the Gulch. He felt that it was a losing race, it 
would be impossible to reach it if he were forced 
to go around the mesa. Then the peril of being 
shot by the rustlers would form a double hazard. 
He must turn to the left and go a longer way. 

Accordingly Jack pulled on the left rein. But 
Cordovan for the first time in Jack’s experience 
refused to obey. He jerked defiantly against the 
pressure, veered sharply to the right and swerved 
from his bee-line path. A series of uneven ridges, 
a mound of sand, soft and powdery, shelves of 
rocks swept free of earth and they had come to 
the rim of the gorge. Suddenly the earth had 


[ 126 ] 


“BLOCK THE GULCH’’ 


ended. There was no more rock or land, only 
blackness and sky. Into this inky crater appeared 
no trail, nor path. Now on the summit of the 
universe with all the things of life and nature, in 
a moment they were to plunge into a sable strip 
of void. There was no turning back, they must 
dash on into the chasm of darkness as if the bot¬ 
tom had fallen from earth. It yawned in front of 
him like an illimitless pit, filled with shaking, trem¬ 
bling forms. Further away the great mass of 
cattle were bawling hoarsely. To Jack they seemed 
to stand still for a moment to watch the outcome 
of this spirited struggle. Then Cordovan leaped— 
pitched his mighty body out into space. Jack held 
to the saddle horn; a strength of steel came into 
his arms and clinched his jaws while fitful can¬ 
nonading boomed in his ears. 

Jack set his body for the shock. The earth 
seemed to rock and turn, the dome full of stars 
rolled to one side, wheeled back and plunged over 
with him, down, down. A pain as a hot branding 
iron seared his shoulder, something tore in his 
back, his forehead struck the saddle horn, blinding 
him. The impact brought everything dead still. 
Cordovan fell to his knees, paused a moment after 
the heavy jolt and rose slowly. The cattle were 
bellowing in a parallel mass, maddened beasts in 
an arena. 


[ 127 ] 


WOLF MOON 


Cordovan limped a moment, then jogged. Fifty 
feet away lay the rocky mouth as if the hills had 
intentionally opened to let the cattle pass. In¬ 
furiated steers, swinging their heads toward Jack 
as they ran, watched the new foe. Jack bent low 
and spoke to Cordovan who, as if in response, gath¬ 
ered his strength and made one desperate lunge 
to the rocky gates. A big startled beast, pressed 
by those behind, lowered his head and struck 
blindly at the horse. Jack whipped out his gun, 
aimed between the eyes, and shot. The steer flung 
his head wildly and crumbled. The report of the 
gun and the belch of light checked the herd for 
an instant. Bewildered they sat their haunches, 
throwing up clouds of stifling dust. One moment 
later a flash spat from the rear of the herd and 
another from the right. As the report reached his 
ears Jack felt Cordovan shudder and tremble as 
a lake liner in a storm. He swayed to the right 
and then fell down upon the carcass of the steer. 
The herd pushed down closer, crushing against the 
rocks on either side, their horns clicking together. 
Jack leaped from Cordovan as he fell and at the 
same time a savage steer started to clear both 
bodies. Jack shot twice into his face, the fire 
showing in the depths of his startled eyes. The 
heavy bull twisted and tossed his head in pain and 
as a river of blood came down his nostrils settled 


[ 128 ] 


“BLOCK THE GULCH” 


lifeless with a groan, straddling the bodies beneath, 
the horse and the steer. 

With the outlet effectively blocked Jack slipped 
behind the pass and climbed the rocky ram¬ 
parts on the left. He loaded his gun and 
looked over into the basin where the trapped 
cattle were milling wildly. Jack’s position was 
such that he could command a view of the entire 
valley. With satisfaction he observed that the 
herd was beginning to spread backward. Loud, 
uncouth voices bellowed above those of the steers. 
A dark figure riding a still darker horse moved 
through the cattle to see the reason for the block¬ 
ade. Jack let him get within range and shot. 
Before his senses recorded the result the man 
returned the fire from his hip, the bullet striking 
a rock on the buttress and sending splinters into 
his face. Crouching low, Jack pulled again and 
again until the horse reared and plunged back¬ 
ward. A surge of steers crushed against the 
rider and he fell from his horse. The urge to 
preserve life forced him to catch hold of a steer’s 
neck but the beast brushed against others until 
he slipped down between the milling cattle, grasp¬ 
ing at their sleek sides as he fell. 

Somewhere out there to the North either in the 
broad bottom of the gulch or else screened in by 
blackjacks the other thieves were hiding. They 

[ 129 ] 

5 


WOLF MOON 


had come to the conclusion that their drive had 
been intercepted by someone at the mouth of the 
gulch and had fled toward the hills. Jack knew 
that Sanders and Buster were somewhere along 
the Northern edge of the valley. An occasional 
popping of a gun acquainted him with the fact. 

Jack moved to a more comfortable position and 
to his surprise discovered that he had been lying 
in a pool of blood. While endeavoring to raise 
himself from his elbows his strength gave way. 
He felt drowsy, while a strange roaring blared 
within his head. He closed his eyes only to re¬ 
open them when a steady string of shots broke 
out in the distance. Two lines of fire up at the 
North end apprised him that the rustlers now 
had banded together. He could hear Christian’s 
gun blurt out—unmistakably that was Christian’s. 
Then the string of light became blurred in Jack’s 
vision, seemed to recede as a steamer at night 
dropping back into the horizon. A tranquility, 
as balmy and soporific as wind off sage, settled 
in his brain. In the new found calm his mind 
trailed back peacefully to the seashore. He was 
running his hands through the warm sand, trac¬ 
ing initials with his fingers. Spurts of salty air 
came in off swells and out on the blue bosom of 
the ocean bathers were dashing spray and frolick¬ 
ing in the sunshine. 


[ 130 ] 


“BLOCK THE GULCH” 


Jack’s weary brain failed to hear the sound of 
footsteps scaling’ the wall behind him. Below 
climbed a figure from rock to rock. Occasionally 
it stopped as if in uncertainty. Then it moved 
again. A pebble jarred from its crevice went 
pounding with others down to the larger rocks 
below. The noise caused Jack to turn until the 
pain of the movement halted him. The thought 
of Tulane sprang to his mind—a sinister dark 
figure, his bloodshot eyes glaring maliciously 
under the sombrero, moving toward him in the 
moonlight. He reached for his gun but it was 
gone. 

Then he remembered. It had fallen from his 
hand when he turned. There it lay in the light, 
its bone handle just showing above the pocket 
of a rock. He stretched toward it—and saw the 
figure. As a huge snake coiling above and below 
the rocks it glided coldly but with a purpose. 
Was it a Dorado? Jack rolled over toward his 
gun and closed his fingers around it just as the 
figure moved behind an obstructing boulder. It 
did not appear again for a while. Jack thought 
this strange. A misty veil filled with magic, 
flying things passed before his eyes again. He 
tried to brush it away and half-succeeded for he 
could perceive the outline of the figure barely 


[ 131 ] 


WOLF MOON 


twenty feet away, prostrate but moving directly 
toward him. 

Then from somewhere he heard his name uttered 
as if it had been swept to his ears by some etherial 
disturbance. The familiar tone brought joyful 
relaxation, sweet and alluring, pacifying his 
unstrung senses. Louise was the last person in 
the world he expected out on the rocky pass, yet 
she had hardly called his name when she was 
bending over him, her form blotting out the light 
of the stars. Above and beyond her head swam 
a trillion minute lights from one point to the 
other. Now she had placed her arm under his 
head and caressed his face with strong passionate 
strokes. 

“Jack, Jack, are you hurt?” came her pressing 
whisper. 

“Once, just once in the shoulder. But I’m 
alright. How did you get here?” His voice 
broke queerly, stopped and broke again. 

“Tulane gave the alarm. Said the herd was 
being rustled down the gulch.” She spoke in 
hurried gasps. 

“Tulane?” cried Jack, his mind awakening to 
a fresh sensation. “Where is he now?” 

“He and the boys are following the gang over 
toward Garrett’s. There! that’s Buster’s gun 
now. ’ ’ 


[ 132 ] 


“BLOCK THE GULCH” 


Both listened to hear the answering reports. 
Before the echoes died Jack clasped her hand 
and urged: 

“You must go now. They’re coming down this 
way. Just leave me here. I’ll take care of my¬ 
self. But you must go!” 

‘Jack, leave you now? Here? Alone? You 
couldn’t, you wouldn’t think I’d do that.” She 
bent close to his face and with all her affection 
coalesced into the words she added: “Why, 
Jack, I’ll never leave you.” 

The sentence slipped from her throat before 
she was aware of the strength and meaning of 
her declaration. It was too much for her to say 
yet the crisis dragged the resolve from her 
trembling mouth. She felt the confession as it 
rang from her lips and its vividness and truth 
surprised her. 

Down from the gulf of heaven space a darkness 
closed in on Jack’s wearied brain and through 
it came her words, “Jack, I’ll never leave you.” 
It was enough. It lulled him into a happiness 
surpassing sweet. Warfare with rough men on 
moonlit plains, fitful passions of robbers fighting 
in the wrong, plunges through space into dark 
abysses gave way and mellowed to a strange 
tranquility which the tender voice of the woman 
in noble pledge of faith hallowed and made divine. 


[ 133 ] 


WOLF MOON 


Louise heard the answer that came mounting 
to his lips, heard it though unuttered and his 
intimation of returned promise thrilled her into 
whispers that came crowding to be spoken. But 
they fell on unhearing ears for Jack’s brain 
sought slumber and found it there lying in 
Louise’s lap. He failed to hear her words or even 
feel her caressing hands upon his face. Whisper¬ 
ing and waiting with the moon visiting her with 
its beams she passed an hour, a recollective hour, 
yet one of the sweetest in her life. 

They were minutes of waiting, of ministering 
to Jack, binding his shoulder with her necker¬ 
chief, in turn looking up the valley now silent, 
now filled with noise, then bending over to Jack’s 
breast to hear his heart beat. She held him quiet 
when he moved, felt his pulse throbbing sternly 
and shifted his head from side to side. But he 
did not speak again. Were she to have heard 
his voice she would have been transported from 
the ghostly scene. Yet it had a realism that held 
no hint of pleasure. The broad mesa to the South 
swept free of living things, the valley to the 
North filled with horrors, the ridges to the East 
and West, black and spectral, and the basin below 
with its dead bodies was too much for her sensi¬ 
tive soul. The desolation cloaked her until it 


[ 134 ] 


“BLOCK THE GULCH” 


forced her to draw Jack to her protectingly. A 
wounded, insensible man for protection! 

A big wolf attracted by the dead cattle appear¬ 
ed on the ridge above. It whisked out of sight 
back on the plains and again appeared on the 
rim. This time it rolled out a long cry, a banquet 
summons to the others to feast. Its second long 
wail was cut short by a shot over near Garrett’s. 
Louise looked down on the dead bodies and the 
dark object lying in the cut-up earth one hun¬ 
dred yards away. Awe and terror plundered her 
reserve of courage and left her panic stricken, 
frightened. But the moonlight glinting from the 
barrel of Jack’s gun reassured her, fed back 
strength to her unstrung nerves. 

The suddenness of the tragedy startled her. 
That very afternoon she had talked with Jack, 
had watched the shadows play on his sun¬ 
burnt face and thrilled under the glance of his 
eyes. Now he lay unconscious in her arms, 
while broken bits of gun lightning made the 
night hideous. It brought her to the realization 
that she must get help from somewhere. Their 
position was dangerous for the rustlers might 
attempt to escape that way. An idea flashed to 
her mind. Why hadn’t she thought of the signal 
before? Accordingly she picked up Jack’s gun 
loaded it with cartridges from his belt and 


[ 135 ] 


WOLF MOON 


fired five times, three long shots followed by two 
at close intervals. It was the call for help at 
the Trichell ranch. 

Jack moved in her arms at the reports. She 
leaned close to his warm perspiring face and 
heard him murmur: 

“Block the Gulch! Block the Gulch! You can 
do it, Cordovan.” 

She patted his face and forehead and ran her 
fingers through his tousled hair. A wind sprang 
up from the plains and touched his pulsating 
brow with her fingers. Both were soft, soothing. 

Ten minutes later Sanders, Buster, Tulane and 
the remainder of the boys came riding down the 
gulch, fifty feet apart, peering in every direction. 
Some one shouted and they reined their horses. 
Sanders advanced cautiously to the dead body of 
the man lying in the sand. 

“Bill Dorado!” he shouted. “Dead as he’ll 
ever be. Both of ’em in the same night. Now ain’t 
that a record. I jist am wondering who got him. 
Looks as if he was trampled by the herd.” 

“Wooooooo! Woooooooo!” A long familiar roll 
came up from the rocks of the pass. 

“There!” cried Christian, pointing to the flinty 
buttress. 

The moon shone down upon the scene, enabling 
all to see the figure of Louise bending over Jack. 


[ 136 ] 


“BLOCK THE GULCH ,, 


Below in the sand at the very mouth of the pass 
lay the carcasses of Cordovan and the two steers. 
As the men closed in a coyote drew off into the 
blackjacks. It licked its lean mouth and flashed 
green eyes at the disturbers. 

Louise was leaning over Jack’s body as if whis¬ 
pering something into his ears when the men scaled 
the rocks and drew forth sparks with their drag¬ 
ging spurs. 


5 * 


[ 137 ] 


Chapter IX. 


THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 

J.ACK opened his eyes in wonderment. From the 
opposite wall the Madonna smiled down upon him 
sweetly. He was in surroundings unfamiliar yet 
carrying with them a hint of home. The room was 
large, light, while through the open windows passed 
a current of air. Cottonwood bloom pasted itself 
against the screen. Everything smelled sweet, the 
linen fresh, while the fragrance of calycanthus 
filled the air. Low, subdued voices mingled har¬ 
moniously with the cooing of doves and the early 
summer sounds. All seemed strangely in place. 
One window faced the west and through it Jack 
could see the drop in the landscape known as 
Navajo Gulch. Then he remembered. The stir¬ 
ring adventures of the night flooded back, the 
meeting with Sanders in the village, the ride of 
reconoitre to the Gulch, the separation, the thunder 
of hoofs, the appearance of Tulane, unquestionably 
it was Tulane, the shooting, the wild ride to block 


[ 138 ] 



THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 


the pass and the apparition of Louise upon the 
rocks. That was the final note in his memory. A 
pain stab from a feverish and burning wound in 
his shoulder made Jack turn over and mutter: 

“That’s some of Tulane’s work. He was prob¬ 
ably in league with the rustlers and helping them 
hustle off the cattle. Just like that fool to take 
a shot at me. But my best plan will be to keep 
quiet a while and see what comes of it.” 

Jack coughed. A door quietly opened and Mrs. 
Trichell appeared. 

“Come in,” shouted Jack. 

“Awake so soon, Mr. Corcoran? A long sleep 
would have done you so much good.” 

“Sleep!” he ejaculated, “on a day like this. I 
want to get up and ride around Roundtop. Look 
at that sun streaming in there. That’s enough to 
make a century plant bloom in an hour. Say, how 
did I get here anyway?” 

“The boys brought you here late last night. 
Louise found you at the pass. You were wounded 
and Sanders and the boys suggested that you be 
brought here for immediate attention. You lost 
some blood but the bullet passed out near the top 
of your shoulder. A pot shot from one of the 
Dorados, I suppose. John declares he’ll never be 
able to repay you for blocking the steal. Why they 


[ 139 ] 


WOLF MOON 


cut away nearly a thousand head. Some of our 
best, too.” 

“Yes? Well, I’m sorry that I had to kill two,” 
declared Jack, with regret. 

“Two! Why bless your heart. If you hadn’t 
killed those two the entire bunch would be down 
in Texas by this time. The boys say that it took 
more than an ordinary man to face that crowd. 
Pushed cattle are angry critters and they will 
hardly stop for anything. John realizes that you 
saved his herd and he’s going to repay you. But 
I must slip out now because you must rest . 9 9 

“Oh, I’m alright, Mrs. Trichell, I’ll be up this 
afternoon, ’ ’ he remarked with confidence. 

“No, not this afternoon, not until you rest a few 
days,” with which she closed the door and left 
Jack to gaze out upon the mesa quivering under 
heat. 

The warm breeze blowing in off the range threw 
open the land of Nod; the smell of hot sand pro¬ 
duced sleep. It was not long before Jack was 
claimed by slumber. 

When he awakened shadows had crept in past 
the waving curtains and woven themselves into 
arabesques upon the floor. But the evening 
brought another visitor. She stood near Jack’s bed 
watching his heaving chest and recalled the night 


[ 140 ] 


THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 


before when she placed her arm under his throb¬ 
bing 1 head. 

Jack’s eyes slowly took in Louise. A small smile 
crept from the corner of his mouth and overspread 
his face. 

“Louise.” 

“Yes, Jack.” 

A strange feeling robbed him of speech, seemed 
to choke back every word, a paralysis that bound 
his tongue. He turned from her pretty form and 
let his eye fall on the sunshot gulch. A few squad¬ 
rons of clouds were moving lonesomely in the west, 
catching and holding rose and gold. A mist 
stained with the sun’s red hung suspended over 
the scene of the preceding night’s tragedy. An¬ 
other night had fallen and it was to be quiet, 
peaceful, serene. 

Jack again turned his face to Louise. She was 
looking down upon him and bent closer as he 
turned. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Louise.” The words 
came smoothly, without effort, bespeaking his 
heart. 

His expression of gladness thrilled her. A flush 
of color mounted to her cheek and then mantled 
her brow, giving her eyes the appearance of blue 
diamonds set in a mass of crushed rubies. At least 
Jack imagined so. But perhaps it was only from 


[ 141 ] 


WOLF MOON 


the rays of the setting snn in its dying chromatic 
play upon the range. 

“I’m glad you’re here, too.” The answer 
swelled naturally; it would have come had the 
situation not been so favorable for an opening of 
their hearts. She would have uttered those very 
words were they alone in the desert or high among 
frozen passes. His presence, his nearness, the light 
from his eyes would have provoked some expression 
of happiness through sheer proximity. 

Impulsively Jack caught hold of her hand. He 
felt it pulsating under its white skin that reminded 
him of the soft underside of a moon flower, velvet¬ 
like, filled with life. 

“What would I have done if you had not come 
to me last night? Perhaps I would be out there 
on the rocks yet. I owe a great deal to you 
Louise.” His voice lowered and cracked as a child 
sobbing out a confession to its mother. 

“Oh, Jack, that’s absurd to say that. The boys 
would have found you. Beside, I felt that you 
were down there at the pass.” 

“Me down at the pass? Why did you imagine 
that I was down there ? ” He questioned her eager¬ 
ly, anxious to know why she had come. 

“Jack, I can tell your gun a mile away. You 
see when Tulane gave the alarm we all rushed out 
to see where the cattle were. But somehow or other 


[ 142 ] 


THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 


Tulane must have waited a long time to notify 
us or else he was not minding his business. It 
was his night on the fence watch and he should 
have told us long before they got such a start. 
Anyhow, the boys rushed to the corral for the 
horses and I went out on the back porch and lis¬ 
tened. When I heard you shoot away down at the 
lower end of the Gulch I knew that you were hav¬ 
ing trouble so I saddled Thunderbird and started 
out toward the pass.” 

“Is that why you came?” 

“Well, I wanted to help a little. You see when 
those rustlers act, they act quickly. Let someone 
give the alarm right away and their work is un¬ 
done. ’ ’ 

“Would you have come if you had not heard me 
shoot?” Jack continued to analyze her feelings. 

Louise hesitated a moment. She knew what she 
wanted to say. A“No” rose to her throat but 
she forced it back. Then looking aside pensively 
she responded: 

4 4 1 don’t know .’ 9 

44 Louise.” 

It was Mrs. Trichell calling from an inner room. 

Jack held Louise’s hand though she gently 
pulled. Then Mrs. Trichell appeared at the door, 
bearing a tray. 


[ 143 ] 


WOLF MOON 


“Here it is supper time and our hero has had 
no nourishment since this morning. Hero’s eat 
don’t they, Mr. Corcoran?” 

“I don’t know, do they?” Jack laughed at the 
idea. “You know I feel as if I am detaining you 
all. You could be out on the porch catching the 
evening air.” 

“There is no such thing as delay in ranch life. 
Ask Buster,” commented Mrs. Trichell. “By the 
way, he was over here about noon to see you but 
the doctor gave orders not to disturb you. Sleep, 
he said, is what you need.” 

Mrs. Trichell went to the northern window. 

“How does Roundtop look this evening?” Jack 
asked. 

“Oh, as brooding as ever, I suppose. It always 
does. Roundtop’s a mystery to me. It just rises 
out of the plains like a pyramid. You cannot see 
another mountain even if you climb Roundtop.” 

“Oh, have you ever climbed it?” Jack felt the 
question come hurriedly. 

“Yes, once when we first came to this country. 
There’s a cave up there. They call it Belle Starr 
Cave. Outlaws lived up there and made it their 
rendezvous . The Starrs are known all over Okla¬ 
homa. The last one, Henry Starr, died recently.” 

“I’d like to go up there sometime and look the 
country over.” 


[ 144 ] 


THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 


“Yes, do, but you won’t see much. John says 
that there’s nothing to this country but the sun, 
the stars, the sand and Roundtop. I guess he’s 
about right. I really never cared much for the 
country even though I’ve lived here a long time.” 

Mrs. Trichell appeared perceptibly nervous. 
Suddenly she faced about and looked squarely into 
Jack’s eyes as she asked: 

11 Do you like this country, Mr. Corcoran ? ’ ’ 

“I like it better each day,” looking with a mis¬ 
chievous twinkle at Louise who dropped her eyes. 
“But I don’t care for the Eastern part of the 
State. The oil fields are not to my liking. The 
thousand spires of oil rigs sprouting from the 
ground remind me of a cemetery.” 

“Do you like this country as well as the East?” 
she followed. 

“At times, yes.” 

‘* Oh, but Philadelphia must be wonderful. One 
can go to theatres, concerts, symphonies—” 

Jack looked at her in surprise. “Symphonies? 
Do you like symphonies ? There are none out here 
are there?” 

“Oh, bless your heart, no. By the way Mr. 
Corcoran, how long have you been in Philadel¬ 
phia?” 

“How long? Just as long as I can remember. 
I’ve played in the sands of Cape May ever since 


[145] 


WOLF MOON 


I could drag a bucket. Cape May is only a short 
run from Philadelphia.” 

Mrs. Trichell relaxed. She started for the win¬ 
dow, and gazed out at Roundtop, at the lilac 
shadows rising around its head. She was looking 
intently at something. Without removing her gaze 
from the mountain she spoke: 

“Louise get me the glasses, please.” 

A moment later with the binoculars to her eyes 
she exclaimed slowly, “Just as I thought. Some¬ 
one with a big sombrero is climbing the trail up 
Roundtop. Well, one thing we can be thankful 
for, it can’t be the Dorados. It’s almost too dark 
to distinguish who it is.” 

Mrs. Trichell turned back toward the couple. 

“Well, Louise, let’s leave Jack to himself now. 
He’ll never rest as long as we stay here and chat 
with him. ’ ’ Jack protested but to no avail. Louise 
smiled sweetly at him, a lingering smile through 
the half open door, one that remained long after 
she had departed. 

A current of impression rushed upon him when 
left to himself. “Now isn’t she a little wonder!” 
Jack spoke to his own listening ears. “The very 
sight of her makes a fellow sit up and warble her 
charms. She’s the most natural girl I ever met. 
It’s a downright shame for Tulane to start the 
report that he found her in a freight car. But 


[146] 


THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 


what makes me mad is for that cur to tell the boys 
that she belongs to him. And the way she dislikes 
him! That girl’s from a good family and when 
I get a chance I am going to ask her everything. 
I guess Janet has forgotten all about me. Haven’t 
had a letter from her in ages. She probably thinks 
that I am out West for good. And the way she 
promised to write to me that last night at Cape 
May. ’ ’ Jack wandered through the past in thought 
until the cool night air fanning his brow induced 
sleep. 

Each morning, noon and evening brought visits 
from Louise and the Trichells. Jack entertained 
them with stories of the East, Louise being espec¬ 
ially fascinated with his accounts of college life, 
of the football field and of towering skyscrapers. 
He seemed to grow in fascination each day and 
she yearned more and more to see the places and 
the people of whom he spoke. The mad torrents 
of humanity in narrow streets, the steamers warp¬ 
ing out from piers, the soldiers and sailors in uni¬ 
form, all became envisioned before her. Jack 
lighted his pictures of the East with an exuberance 
that transfixed her. She started to ply him with 
questions about the people, his parents, about his— 

The question that he was expecting came. Twi¬ 
light had stolen with its shadows into the room 
and Louise had drawn her chair closer to his bed- 


[147] 


WOLF MOON 


side. The cottonwoods rustled as before an ap¬ 
proaching storm but it was only the nightly visit 
of the South wind singing the feathered world 
to sleep . And with the first stir of the trees out 
came the stars one by one, like angels waking from 
the noontide glare to the softness of the night. 
Jack smiled at her question. It rose to her lips 
at each meeting but died away, as a child timid 
in asking some wanted favor. 

“Friends?” repeated Jack. “Oh, lots of them. 
There are so many people in the East that natur¬ 
ally one has lots of friends. They are down there 
at Cape May now watching the big liners pass with 
their lonesome lights. Oh, I just wish you could 
see Cape May some time. It is so quiet and calm 
there and the beach is finer and the waves come 
in higher and more buoyant than any other place 
on the old Atlantic/ ’ 

Louise was not to be turned. “But I mean a 
close friend, haven’t you a dear friend in the 
East?” 

There was no evasion. “Well, you might call 
her a friend.” 

“And don’t you?” 

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” 

“Why not all the time.” 

“For this reason,” and he answered her with 
a query. “Do true friends ever forget?” 


[ 148 ] 


THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 


‘ ‘ They say not. ’ ’ 

“Well, if you hadn’t heard from a friend for 
more than a month would you call that friend 
true?” 

“No, but there might be a reason. Tell me all 
about her. What’s her name?” 

“Janet Hathaway. Oh, we’ve been friends for 
a long time. Went to school and sat close together 
when we were kids. But Janet had started to 
change before I left. She seemed to be absorbing 
a different spirit, unsatisfied, craving excitement. 
Nevertheless Janet is a wonderful girl. Per¬ 
haps she thinks I’ll never go back East. That may 
be the reason for her not writing.” 

“But you will return East, won’t you?” 

“Maybe not. Sometimes one becomes anchored 
to a spot by sentiment, sometimes by circumstances 
and then again by-” Jack hesitated. 

“What?” Louise pressed. 

“Love.” 

‘ ‘ Love for the place ? ’ ’ 

“Yes and sometimes the people.” 

“But you do like the Christians and the Trich- 
ells,” Louise insisted. 

“Yes, they are simply wonderful. But there is 
someone else who has been just a dream to me. 
Maybe I wouldn’t be here but for that person.” 

“Buster Christian made you come.” 


[ 149 ] 



WOLF MOON 


“Yes, but yon made me stay.” Jack clasped 
her hands between his and pressed them hard. In 
the embrace Louise experienced new intimations of 
life and contentment. She had scaled from the 
rocky pit of desolation and hopelessness to the sum¬ 
mit of a new-born existence. Here she could thrill 
under the tempest of sentiment and affection, here 
outgrow her callous insulation toward the sweetest 
things of life. She could lift her head to the 
beauties of the night and trample the memories of 
years, those bitter days when she lay blanched with 
fear, dreading from day to day that she would die 
without one single hour of happiness. But now 
it was over. She was radiantly happy. Her veins 
tingled, her whole body trembled under the excite¬ 
ment of it all. Then she realized Jack was pressing 
her hand tightly and she turned her face toward 
his. They smiled i and together looked out upon 
the range. Roundtop seemed cloaked with a wad¬ 
ding of purple shadows, a night covering that 
would remain around its rocky body until the sun’s 
rays came and burnt it off. Far off somewhere a 
coyote yipped lonesomely, a mourning wail for 
companionship and a defiance to the risen moon. 
The weather vane creaked and was silent, then 
whirled. The wind was rising, trailing its length 
through the room with odors of sand and alkali 
dust, strong yet sweetly pungent. 


[ 150 ] 


THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 


‘‘Now let me ask you a question/’ Jack’s voice 
broke through the silence. It was his turn to be¬ 
come inquisitive. 

“Louise, what is your family name?” The 
question was full of solicitude. 

Louise fought between two fires. She had prom¬ 
ised Mrs. Trichell that she would not mention a 
word of the gypsy camp to a soul. In turn Mrs. 
Trichell vowed she would not breathe the fact to 
anyone. To those who asked she would answer 
that she was visiting from the far West. Tulane 
would talk, of course, and aver he found her in 
a freight car, but no one believed Tulane anyhow, 
no one took stock in his asinine vaporings. 

Louise shook her head in the darkness. At last 
the question had come. For weeks she had been 
expecting it, yet hoping that in the crisis an an¬ 
swer would arise from somewhere. A small tear 
beaded near the corner of her eye and her throat 
suddenly dried and felt hot. 

“Jack,” she choked out “I would rather that 
you had not asked me that question. Some day 
you’ll go back East and forget Oklahoma and its 
people and to you I’m only one of its people.” 

“Yes, perhaps I’ll go back but if I do you’ll go 
with me. But I would like to know your name. 
I want to write and tell Father all about you. 
Isn’t that fair?” 


[ 151 ] 


WOLF MOON 


Louise turned to the gloom of the room expect¬ 
ing an answer from the darkness. “Isn’t Louise 
enough? That’s what you call me now. If my 
name were Jones you wouldn’t call me Miss Jones, 
would you?” 

“No, but supposing I went away and wanted to 
write to you I couldn’t put just Louise on the 
envelope. ’ ’ 

“Jack, why do you always talk of going away?” 
Louise saw a loophole to escape. 

‘ ‘ I said suppose I should go away. ’ ’ 

“But you won’t, will you?” 

“Not if you tell me your nalne.” 

Again the pendulum swung back. 

A surging tide of confidence in Jack arose within 
her. She wanted to unburden her soul, tell him 
all, the gypsy camp, the wild night ride on the 
freight car, her discovery by Tulane and above 
all that she had never known her family. She 
felt that it would come to this sooner or later. Yet 
if all the world lay at her feet she could not pro¬ 
nounce her name. 

Then like a vulture circled a thought and 
dropped into her mind. It swooped down from the 
eyrie of gnawing sorrow suspended overhead. 

Perhaps she had no name. 

Louise’s head fell at the thought and sank deeply 
in her palms. Her arms weakened, the black pitch 


[152] 


THE BURDEN OF HER SOUL 


of the plains came into the room and she seemed 
to grope, touching nothing with her moving, grasp¬ 
ing fingers. Another tear, hotter than the first, 
ran down her cheek. It seemed to seek her bosom, 
heaving and pulsating as if frightened by titanic 
ogres and Hydra-headed monsters. Her frame 
shook until Jack clasped her closer. Spasmodically 
she buried her face in the covers by his side. Her 
shaking body, racked by mental torture, perceived 
that they were warm. She could have kissed him 
in a moment, laid her wet face on his and unlocked 
the secrets of her heart, trusted to his love and 
kindness that he would understand. 

Sobbing, shaking, she murmured something that 
was lost. 

Jack wanted to shelter this forlorn little creature 
as a hunter who picks up a wounded bird in a 
storm. Doubtless, Jack thought, she was under¬ 
going a mental tempest that had tossed her from 
her feet, driven her from her saner self. What 
was it all about? Why did she act so? A whiff 
of wind laden with range fragrance cooled his 
brow and Jack knew he was perspiring under a 
strain. A strange cry of a bird in the cottonwoods 
outside came startlingly clear between her sobs. 
Jack felt that he should help, lend her all his 
assistance. But what to do? Maudlin-like he 
found himself running his fingers through her 


[153] 


WOLF MOON 


silken hair. It was so full of life, so soft that 
it could have been an angel’s. Jack felt that 
her spirit was just as soft and pliant and easily 
broken. Perhaps he had done something to offend 
her. 

Without forethought or direction he instinctively 
bent his face close to hers and whispered. 

“Sweetheart, to me you’ll always be just 
Louise.” 


[ 154 ] 


Chapter X. 


THE STRANGER AND THE STORM 

C AME weeks and weeks of blistering suns send- 
ing heat waves rising giddily from the earth. Long 
before the dog days and July noons men welcomed 
shade. Jack soon realized why the wide-brimmed 
sombrero is necessary in the Southwest. The hard 
baked earth swept free of sand sent back its actinic 
rays to bite and burn. And the wind ever blew 
from the South. It raised puffs of sand into spin¬ 
ning baby cyclones that whipped the fiery grains 
against face and saddle. It burnt the pastures 
dry, stunted the buffalo grass and seared cotton¬ 
wood leaves. Sweeping up the mesa from some 
distant desert it swayed the sage and cracked the 
high weeds until they bent over in the dust. Earth 
ground finer than powder drifted into dunes along 
the roadsides, under fences, changed a green world 
into a red, wan realm. Its constant drive against 
trees twisted their branches and made them sag 
to the North. The sun held sway through weary, 


[155] 



WOLF MOON 


heat-filled hours stirring the bottle flies into swarms 
that irritated cattle. Night came bringing relief 
and a breeze that seemed to spring from a mythical 
sea at the end of the horizon. 

Days spent out in the open brought back 
strength to Jack’s body. His hand became steady, 
his eye clear, his whole being pulsated with a new 
and greater life. Sometimes he rode the range 
alone; at others the slender figure of a girl could 
be seen on a pony beside him. He loped from 
Eoundtop to the Gulch and then down into the 
flat country beyond where the chaparral only broke 
the sweep of the wind. The blazing sun streamed 
down upon his back and upon his horse’s mane 
and returned from the red earth quivering with 
intenser fire. 

Each day at noon Jack rode over to the Chris¬ 
tians and at each visit was forced to deny their 
assertion that he would not come back to their 
ranch to live. Yes, he w T ould go back when Mrs. 
Trichell declared that he had fully recuperated. 
But down in his heart Jack hoped she never would 
admit it. He preferred the Trichell ranch and 
one did not have to go far for the reason. Buster 
was the ring leader of the teasers. He wanted Jack 
at home for friendship’s sake. 

“Huh! when they say so,” ejaculated Buster. 
“You know John Trichell thinks the sun rises and 


[156] 


THE STRANGER AND THE STORM 


sets on yon. He swears he couldn’t repay you in a 
lifetime. Look at Satellite, his wonder horse. You 
know you stand aces high with him or he would 
never have given you that pony. Jack, when are 
you going to build a little nest, way out in the 
AYest and let the rest of the world go by?” 

Twilight always found Jack at the rim of Navajo 
Gulch. He could enjoy the sunset here more fully, 
could see the sky flowers bloom and fade and 
change their colors in the garden of the AYest-. 
Some eventides were serene, that was when the 
color riot was most profound. 

Jack took great sport in shooting at the coyotes 
that came up from the underbrush at dusk and 
darted in and out among the blackjacks. He 
laughed at their frisky ways but especially at their 
quick getaway when a bullet splashed the dust 
beside them. 

Jack was turning away from the Gulch one 
evening when a loud haloo fell upon his ears. He 
stopped and looked back. A stranger on foot 
emerged from the trees. Jack then recalled that 
he had failed to reload his gun. It was something 
unusual for him yet he turned and faced the man, 
a tall, splendidly built chap, wearing a large black 
hat in Mexican fashion. He was booted and 
spurred though his horse was not in view. His 
hands were on his belt and he fingered its smooth 


[157] 


WOLF MOON 


surface. His shirt thrown open exposed a huge 
chest. 

* ‘ Came mighty close to nipping me stranger. A 
friend and me was just talking down there when 
one of your bullets whizzed pretty close to my 
head.” 

“Rcekon, I’ll beg your pardon. Hadn’t the 
faintest idea that you or anybody else was down 
there,” answered Jack, surprised at the news. 

“Wal, it pays to be careful, especially when I 
came mighty close to answering you with my .45. 
I don’t welcome pot shots from nobody.” 

“Sure am sorry old man but I repeat I didn’t 
know anybody was over there. ’ ’ 

“No, I don’t guess you did. You might have 
shot straighter. Wal, be careful hereafter.” After 
a mysterious pause in which the man looked over 
toward the Trichell ranch house, he continued, 
“Say, stranger, are you acquainted with that 
young lady over there on the ranch ? ’ ’ 

“What’s her name?” responded Jack, getting 
the import of the question. 

“That’s neither here nor there. Isn’t a young 
girl staying over there?” 

“What do you want to know for?” 

“Damn your inquisitiveness. That’s for me to 
know and you to find out. But I reckon I know 
her a little better than you do. Jes’ reckon I 


[158] 


THE STRANGER AND THE STORM 


could surprise you with what I do know about her. 
Maybe I could tell you some things that you would 
like to know.” 

“Is that so?” Jack drawled out the question 
purposely. 

“Wal, I reckon so. I knew her father and 
mother and that’s saying a little more than you. 
Sort of called me a fren’ of the family.” The man 
glanced back towards the blackjacks as if expecting 
someone to show himself. Jack thought his eyes 
shifted as if telling a lie. 

“Well, if you know her so well why don’t you 
go over and state your business?” 

“That’s a purty smart answer from a young 
’un like you. But I guess I have my own reason. 
Suppose I tell you that if she knew I was here 
she’d a come running over here to see me.” The 
stranger’s eyes twinkled as if suppressing humor. 

“Well, what’s the idea of keeping the good news 
back. If you want me to I’ll be glad to tell her,” 
offered Jack with feigned seriousness. 

“Don’t work so fast. I’ll do all the telling if 
there’s to be any done. I just wish to shine up a 
bit before I state my case to her. Gotten purty 
seedy from the desert and the hills out thar.” He 
followed his words with a wide sweep of the arm 
to the west. 

“Been prospecting?” 


[159] 


WOLF MOON 


“That and more. I ain’t a-stating my business 
nor profession to strangers, I just want to make 
sure the girl’s over there. That’s all.” His words 
carried a note of finality and emphasis. 

“Well, why don’t you visit the ranch and ask 
for her?” 

44 Huh, with you so handy to supply the informa- 
iton ? Son, you talk as if you’d been draining some 
Oklahoma choc. I’m going to visit her when I 
get good and ready, I have some news to convey 
to her. I reckon you’re just itching to find it out. 
Wai, I’m just good-natured enough to tell you. 
Her people want to see her out in Nevada and 
they a-knowin’ I w!as cornin’ here to Oklahoma 
asked me to deliver a personal message to her.” 

“Are her parents in Nevada?” Jack was temp¬ 
ted to ask. 

44 Hah, I see you don’t know much about the girl. 
Guess she’s wrapped up a purty sweet story and 
handed it to you. Them blue eyes has you 
guessing, too. Wal, you ain’t the first she’s 
fooled.” He chuckled for a moment and then 
added with a show of fire. 44 But she ain’t putting 
nothing over on me. She knows I’m wise. What’s 
she been a telling you?” 

44 Why do you want to know?” 


[160] 


TIIE STRANGER AND THE STORM 


“Just to see how her story hooks up with the 
truth. You let me know what she’s been tellin’ 
you and I ’ll let you in on the real thing. ’ ’ 

Jack’s taunting smile was his answer. 

“Ain’t a saying much, huh? Well Hell take 
it I reckon you and I are about finished. Just 
remember this, stranger, I know the girl from a 
time these heah parts never knew you. Adios! 
But just watch your bullets. They’s a liable to 
come back sometime in good measure. I’m none 
too bashful with my own gun.” 

Without another word the man strode back into 
the night, leaving Jack bewildered. He returned 
swiftly to the bunk house and inquired for Tu- 
lane. The latter had left for town after supper. 
It was just as he had surmised. 

Jack had a premonition that this brooding 
stranger had come for no good purpose. The mys¬ 
tery of Louise’s past seemed to deepen. Was 
this man related to her ? Why was he waiting over 
in the Gulch spying on Louise? How did he ever 
come to know Louise, or discover that she was 
living here? Back to the original question Jack 
came, Who was Louise? Why did she refuse to 
tell him her name? Hiding her identity would 
have brewn a storm of suspicion in a man lacking 
faith in his love but Jack divined that back of it 
there must be some great reason for withholding 


[161] 


WOLF MOON 


her name and family. Time would lead the story 
out from the cavern of darkness. 

Jack felt that he should tell Louise of the meet¬ 
ing with this stranger. But perhaps it would only 
be a source of worry for her. He would just warn 
her to keep close to home. In the meantime he 
would try to discover who the stranger was. 

Goaded by strange thoughts and surmises Jack 
sat at the window of his room until late that night. 
He was looking out toward the Gulch. Occasion¬ 
ally a light flickered over on the Western slope 
and sparks sprang upward through the trees. But 
when Jack gazed more intently it proved only a 
will o’ the wisp. It had disappeared. Only when 
the ranch was as quiet as a sanctuary did he stretch 
across the bed to sleep fitfully and in snatches. 

Morning broke upon a world of swirling sand. 
During the night the wind had started to moan and 
the sand to sift. Pouring steadily from the South 
and Southwest, the increasing wind lifted high into 
the air particles of red dust and brown dirt. It 
beat against the windows in a soft silken rustle. 
The sun, only a circle in the sky, threw a pale 
saffron light over everything. Overhead clouds of 
dust raced through the air freighted with hot, dry 
bits of earth. Underfoot a soft covering of velvet 
sand crunched like snow. The air smelled of the 
desert. Trees bent under the dusty wind as spec- 


[162] 


THE STRANGER AND THE STORM 


tres moving back and forth in a wan world. It 
was weird, ghostlike as if the earth had opened 
and the uncanny creatures of the world beneath 
raced from their dusty abode. 

John Trichell gave orders to the boys to herd 
the cattle closer to the house. Even Jack offered 
his services and was accepted. Jack, thus pressed 
into service, could not go for the mail. 

In his stead Louise volunteered to visit the vil¬ 
lage. She went to the corral with a lump of sugar 
and whistled for Thunderbird. The latter pealed 
an answer and came running to the bars. A min¬ 
ute later she was feeling the thrill of riding fast 
through a sandstorm, akin to wild gallop at night¬ 
fall. But Louise paid little attention to the brown 
world that was born during the night. She was 
accustomed to the dust storms that come with the 
hot dry weather of the west. 

“Good mawning, Miss Louise,” Hunter, the 
postmaster broke out cheerfully. “Haven’t seen 
you for a long time,” and as he passed the mail 
out under the little brass grating he added, ‘ ‘ Rath¬ 
er surprised to see you this mawning with the wind 
ablowing and the sand adrifting. Thought only 
those gypsies would be out today.” 

“What gypsies?” queried Louise, startled. 

“Just gypsies, I suppose. Why? Ain’t you 
a-seen them? Been on the north side of Roundtop 


[163] 


WOLF MOON 


for weeks. Tulane knows they’re over thar cause 
I saw him talking to one yesterday as I looked 
through this heah window. Reckon the greaser 
don’t do much herding for ole’ man Trichell.” 

Louise turned away in alarm. Gypsies! The 
thought sent a thrill through her. Perhaps they 
were only a passing tribe. Could it be possible 
that it was Pemella’s band? It was almost two 
years since she had escaped. They would hardly 
return to Oklahoma so early in the summer. But 
the innate curiosity of woman was aroused in her. 
She experienced a strong desire to discover who 
the gypsies were. If she could only spare a mo¬ 
ment and ride over to Roundtop. The storm would 
act as a protecting cover and facilitate her spying 
on them. It would be possible to slip up to the 
camp unawares and in a moment she could satisfy 
her curiosity. She knew the children of Pemella’s 
band. 

At second thought Louise realized the peril. Sup¬ 
pose Pemella or Nava should see her. It might 
mean death. Then gypsy revenge is bitter and 
relentless. There was no telling what it might cost 
her. Yet if she failed to accept this opportunity 
to view the camp there might not come another. 
The Trichells and Jack had warned her a hundred 
times to be careful, never to approach the Gulch 
or ride off down the southern mesa of sage. But 


[164] 


THE STRANGER AND THE STORM 


this was Roundtop. She had never been warned 
of Roundtop yet she felt that they wouldn’t ap¬ 
prove of her visit, especially with a band of gypsies 
camped at its base. But the storm was a Godsend. 
Who would see her when she could not see an object 
one hundred yards away? 

Louise raced down the village streets. The win¬ 
dows of the houses were closed to keep out the 
sifting sand but she could see faces pressed close 
to panes as she rode by. It was ever thus. A 
hundred persons passed by each day. It meant a 
hundred trips to the window. Who was in town? 
How long did they stay? 

Without once drawing rein Louise came to the 
point where the Trichell section cuts away from the 
main road. She spurred Thunderbird up the slope 
and was greeted by the wide brown plains. Ver¬ 
itable showers of fast-moving sand hung suspended 
in the air. The dust and dirt gritted in one’s 
mouth, seeped down one’s shirt, galled the horse’s 
back and crept anywhere and everywhere that air 
could go. 

Thunderbird bent lower and loped into the 
brown swirling wind cylinders that caught up the 
loose sand into wheeling cones. Louise knew where 
Roundtop lay, yet it was not in sight. Shaking 
her ears, snorting, blowing the dust from her nos¬ 
trils, Thunderbird moved on until Roundtop 


[165] 


WOLF MOON 


loomed brown and spectral before her. It was just 
as Mrs. Trichell had said, Roundtop did have a 
menacing look. She had not realized it until this 
moment. In other moods Louise had believed it 
beautiful, especially in the morning sunlight or at 
sundown when it boldly stood higher to peep down 
at the retiring sun rolling off the horizon to its 
sleep beyond. Twenty feet away from the base of 
the mountain a small growth of underbrush girdled 
the entire base of the slope. Louise thought it best 
not to advance further. She was afraid Thunder- 
bird might whinny if she saw a horse. Beside there 
would be less chance for detection on foot. Louise 
threw the reins over Thunderbird’s head. The 
latter turned her back to the wind and with head 
lowered saw her mistress disappear among the 
trees. 

Louise slipped through the underbrush as lithely 
as a fawn. Above her the mountain reared its top 
into the brown clouds of sand. It stood there like 
a huge boulder with maddened seas moiling about 
its crest. Not a sound was heard save the sifting 
of the sand, a gentle rustle against the leaves 
burned dry by the hot suns of the preceding weeks. 
Then broke out the voices of children, a shriek, a 
wild response of free souls at play. After that 
followed silence, the sad, lonesome silence of the 
forest. Louise clambered over fallen trees, between 


[166] 


THE STRANGER AND THE STORM 


which she observed a path which her eye followed 
up the steep sides of the hill. There was a de¬ 
pression in the sand. In fact it had been used 
recently, for there before her eyes were foottracks 
of boots, the big sole, the small high heel and the 
unmistakable mark of the spur. Some of the 
gypsies were using it perhaps to get water farther 
up the slope. Louise followed the trail away from 
the hill and down into a small ravine. A few steps 
farther it spread sharply into a deep depression 
or valley, one hundred feet wide. There before her 
lay the camp with four, five, six canvass-covered 
wagons. Some were newly painted in red and yel¬ 
low. Others paint-peeled and weather-beaten. A 
group of children was beating against a pan with 
sticks. Two wrestled furiously, biting and pulling 
as puppies at play. Outside of the youngsters the 
camp seemed deserted of human beings. A large 
lean mongrel dog moved from under one of the 
vans and looked up toward Louise. In a moment 
the camp echoed with wails and long howls. Three 
other hounds joined in on the alarm. Gypsies 
rushed to the tent flaps and gazed about. Louise 
slipped back to cover behind foilage and waited, 
her heart beating in jarring strokes. 

When the pandemonium ceased Louise peered 
out from her hiding place. The camp again seemed 
deserted. Brown tents stood silently like corn 


[167] 


WOLF MOON 


shocks in November fields. A faint hissing sound 
from overhead was made by the sand pouring 
against the leaves. 

Louise straightened up. She was almost certain 
she recognized one of the horses, a piebald critter 
she remembered as a biter. And there before her 
was Nava’s varicolored blanket a ls violent-hued as 
ever. Louise was stunned. This was the band from 
which she had escaped. Her proximity to the 
camp startled her as consciousness of peril rushed 
in to displace her courage. What brought them 
back here so close to the ranch if they hadn’t dis¬ 
covered that she was in Terlton? It was too early 
in the summer for gypsies to cut through Okla¬ 
homa on their journey southward for the winter. 

An ocean of fear swept her up bodily and shook 
her frame. Blood rushed to her face in the quick¬ 
ening alarm. She was picturing herself back again 
under the tyranny of Nava. Quivering, her heart 
pounding in trepidation, she stood with footsteps 
anchored in the midst of the grinding gulf of 
fright. In her paroxysm of fear she failed to hear 
behind her footsteps muffled in the sand. 

Like a tigress at bay she scented danger and 
turned. 

There in the path behind her crouched Pemella. 


[168] 


Chapter XI. 


VISIONS OF TRAGEDY 

Y OU here?” hissed Pemella. The gypsy- 
humped himself into a brutal posture and let the 
words come high and tense between his teeth. 

Louise’s throat was caught in a hideous paral¬ 
ysis. Her knees grew weak, then rigid. 

“ You little spy, answer me. You ran from camp 
and hid for a couple of years. I’ve hunted you 
through every state in the west but I knew I’d 
get you. What you doing here?” 

“I—I—just came to look,” Louise broke out 
startled. 

“Yes, to look if I was here. I knew the old love 
would come back. It’s too strong. It got you when 
you were young and its holding you tight, tight. 
You can’t lose it. Its gypsy marry gypsy, that’s 
what brought you here. The old gypsy blood in 
your veins is coming out, it’s got to meet gypsy.” 

“I’m not a gypsy,” Louise found strength to 
shriek. 


6* 


[169] 



WOLF MOON 


“You’re not, eh? Then Lodhka was not a 
gypsy. She was your mother.” 

“Lodhka was a gypsy but I’m not. You know 
it. You know that I was stolen. I see it all now.” 

“They lie who told you. Your father was white 
but your mother was Lodhka.” 

“It’s a lie, a lie. I haven’t a drop of gypsy 
blood in me. Nava and you have lied, you’ve-” 

‘ ‘ Stop! Since you ran from camp like a thief 
you have become as the eagle, proud. Who filled 
your ears with this wind—you an American, hah! 
Nava has been waiting for you and when she 
touches you her curse will bind your tongue. She 
has killed men in the desert; she has blinded them 
from afar until they walked around in the woods 
like bears. She ’ll put it on you unless—unless you 
come with me to camp. She won’t harm you then. 

I will make you camp queen and-’ Pemella 

stepped forward. 

“If you touch me I’ll shout for the boys,” Louise 
turned toward the protecting underbrush. 

“For the boys, eh? Hah, I watched you come. 
The gypsy eye never fails. I’ve already chased 
your pony away. But put your gun where I can 
see it. You wouldn’t come to camp without one. 
Trying to get the drop on someone I s’pose.” 

Louise made capital of the suggestion. Her gun 
was home in her dresser drawer. “Not until you 


[170] 




VISIONS OF TRAGEDY 


move another step and then I’ll shoot,” she chal¬ 
lenged him with firmness. 

‘ ‘ Oh, there’s no use of gun play in this bargain. 
We’ll talk business without it. Let’s get a move 
on. Some of your friends will be back soon when 
they see your pinto trotting home. Maybe that 
tall slick friend of yours that I was talking to last 
night. He’s the one who put me wise to you. Told 
me where you were and all about you.” 

“You lie,” she shouted. 

“Lie, eh? Well I told him everything. Just 
sort of straightened things out for him. He made 
out he didn’t know anything about you so I ups 
and told him all, that you were a gypsy and-” 

“You lied, lied, lied,” she cried furiously. “I’ll 
go back and tell him the truth.” 

“Ah hah, you’ll tell him the truth will you? 
Well, you won’t get a chance to see him again, 
young gal. You’re going with me to the camp 
and then-” 

“I’ll die first before I’d ever go back,” inter¬ 
rupted Louise with fire. You’ll never take me back 
alive as long as I have this gun.” Her hand slipped 
nervously into her bosom. 

“Yes you’d rather live with that ornery East¬ 
erner or Tulane.” 

“Tulane!” gasped Louise. She was amazed at 
what Pemella knew. 


[171] 




WOLF MOON 


“Yes Alsak, or Tulane as you call him. He’s 
the man. He thinks he’s going to marry you, but 
by Heaven, he never will.” Liquid fire poured 
out of his eyes. “Don’t back up there little girl 
because I’ve got you now. I’ll follow you until 
Hell freezes over. You belong to me. Alsak’s love 
is only as a wasp’s compared to mine. And that 
Easterner, I’ll kill him for the coyotes. You may 
be loving ’em both, but they’ve got you in their 
grasp, laughing at your willingness. I know those 
smart furriners, powdered, pretty and nice words. 
But they mean nothing. I love you; I want you to 
come with me to camp. Let’s talk it over there. 
We’ll just slip away tonight and when the sun 
comes up tomorrow those two will be like foxes 
without eyes. I’m mighty glad you came so handy. 
I’ve been waiting for you for weeks and weeks and 
here you walk right into my arms. But it’s the 
old love coming out. You always did love me. You 
ran away because you didn’t know yourself. But 
I ’ll forgive you now even if you did let my brother 


Louise gasped and reeled back, “Your brother!” 
she repeated. 

“Sure, Alsak’s my brother. He left us when 
you were like this—a weed. Brothers don’t pull 
well together at times. He left the band and he’s 
been drifting ever since. He’s mad because he’s 


[172] 



VISIONS OF TRAGEDY 


not chief and he won’t be until I go under. Then 
it’s his job. But we’re wasting time. Besides the 
storm’s over. It’s your move.” 

4 ‘ Don’t dare come a step closer. I ’ll shoot to kill. 
I’ve seen enough of you and when I tell the boys 
you’re here they’ll clear you out.” 

The insult from the girl was too much for him 
to bear. His face grew hot, passionate, bulging 
under a rush of blood. He was a volcano of out¬ 
raged vanity. He strode forward with eyes gleam¬ 
ing like red coals. 

Louise had failed to hold him off. She stepped 
backward, wheeled and darted under the brush. 
Almost on top of her followed the huge form of 
Pemella. Screaming, tearing at the bushes in front 
of her, she dodged, turned and slipped from tree 
to tree. She could almost feel the burning breath 
of the man upon her back. The large opening into 
the plains could not be found. She cut back sharp¬ 
ly at an angle to see Pemella plunge past her with 
arms open. Leaping over trees, breaking the dead 
wood underfoot, Louise fought the greatest battle 
of her life. Like a maddened, infuriated bear, 
Pemella came crashing after her, cursing, mutter¬ 
ing, the blood boiling behind his throbbing fore¬ 
head. Her fleeing form set his brain into a 
frenzy. 


[ 173 ] 


WOLF MOON 


Louise stumbled but gained her footing. The 
gripping fear was robbing her of breath. Joy 
leaped to her heart when a little farther on she 
saw her goal—the clearing. When she arrived 
there her weary senses told her that Thunderbird 
had disappeared. She continued to run but on the 
plain Pemella steadily gained on her. Louise, see¬ 
ing his advance, swerved with the hope of once 
more gaining the underbrush—her only refuge. 
Almost at the edge of the trees she stumbled, send¬ 
ing a shower of dust into her eyes. She could not 
rise. Death seemed to catch up with her and bind 
her muscles into bone-like hardness. She was par¬ 
alyzed with dread. 

Though stiffened with fear Louise felt Pemella 
pounce upon her. His large rough fingers sank 
into the clothing on her back. She imagined she 
could see him frothing at the mouth and flecking 
foam down upon her neck and shoulders. To 
struggle would be useless. So she lay face down 
with her forehead buried in the hot, powdery earth 
just as a few years before she lay with face in 
the leaves with the menacing form of Nava poised 
over her. 

Pemella gloated for a moment over his prize, 
undetermined what to do. She was in his very 
fingers, his possession. He could do with her as 
he pleased. He crouched over her form watching 


[ 174 ] 


VISIONS OF TRAGEDY 


it quiver and heave like the pulsating breast of a 
bird. For years he had waited for this supreme 
moment and here she lay at his feet, alone, helpless, 
a broken creature in the sand. A queer light of 
exultation, of desire, of quickening hope came to 
him. The beast within him was lunging passion¬ 
ately at the bars of his restraint, only in turn to 
be driven back by the tender affection that he had 
nurtured in his breast for years. Nava’s cold eyes, 
glinting with jealousy, were not upon him now. 
He felt secure here from interfering hands or law, 
only a conscience ground fine by pure love stood 
guard. Yet he wanted to be alone with her, to 
whisper the outpourings of his inner soul, to dis¬ 
suade her from her new life and to return to the 
old. After moments of indecision, moments when 
the man’s brain was inflamed under the heat of 
conflicting forces within, he arose, fearing watch¬ 
ing eyes. But there was no soul in sight. 

Louise felt herself lifted. She closed her eyes. 
Half dead with fear a new blight overspread her 
heart. In the shelter of the trees Pemella stopped. 
Louise felt the virile force of the man in the strain 
of his body as he held her close in both arms and 
pressed his hot lips close to her dust-stained cheek. 
Inert and lifeless as far as physical movement was 
concerned, her soul receded in horror at the dese¬ 
cration. Crushed with dread and despair she 


[ 175 ] 


WOLF MOON 


seemed to see herself let down into a bottomless 
shaft of darkness where furious gusts of passion 
and throes of racking pain contended between the 
material and the spiritual of her being. Ill fated 
and cursed with nameless existence, further ill fated 
and cursed with instinctive desire for a higher, 
happier life, hounded by hideous memories of 
a past of tortured slavery, further hounded by a 
tyrannical love-struck gypsy, gasping for breath 
and life and honor within his arms, what in the 
name of higher womanhood had she to live for? 
She had soared from gypsy filth and serfdom to 
sublimity and paradise, she had escaped the wicked 
clutches of foul men, she had climbed from a crater 
of passion, marked by a man of greed, to the 
heights of sacred, pure womanhood. Now a heavy 
pendulum was pounding against her and swinging 
her out into space with nothing above or beneath 
or beyond but eternity, ready to let her fall back 
into the pit that somewhere must await her. And 
through it all her mind burned in a consuming 
fire. 

For a moment Louise was unconscious. When 
she awakened she seemed to be heaved to and fro 
on an ocean of warm waves that gripped her body. 
Louise felt herself being carried, up, up, up. She 
opened her eyes into minute slits. A moving 
mirage like the plains was spread before her. The 


[ 176 ] 


VISIONS OF TRAGEDY 


hot breath of the man fell upon her face, like 
steaming vapor off of storm-drenched fields. 
Pemella was mounting Roundtop. 

A current of death-like fear ran through her. 
She was not being brought to camp as she sur¬ 
mised. She divined her destination—Belle Starr 
cave. But the thought, the gripping blow that 
sent a mantle of scarlet to her face was the tragedy 
that might await her. Pemella saw the crimson 
bound to her face, gazed until it ran through the 
roots of her brown hair. He watched and won¬ 
dered. It made her appear like a poppy in his 
arms. At the very summit Pemella stood and 
gazed upon the plains. The air was almost calm, 
yet heavy and oppressive and the sun shone hotly 
from a sky that had lost its brown. Down near 
the Trichell ranch he could see figures moving. 
There seemed to be some great agitation among the 
riders. 

Pemella knelt at the entrance of the cave. The 
opening was low but once inside a vast chamber 
appeared that led to another. He lay his burden 
down on the rocks and rested. Strong as he was 
the climb up the hill had been fatiguing. 

The gypsy in wonderment and pleasure watched 
her soft white throat throbbing. It moved up and 
down like a lily in the morning breeze. For min¬ 
utes he knelt beside her, hesitating between taking 


[ 177 ] 


WOLF MOON 


her in his arms or being 1 satisfied with mere watch¬ 
ing. Then he arose hastily, ran to the entrance 
and looked out. What he saw made him return 
quickly, rend his neckerchief in pieces and bind 
her arms and feet. He felt certain that she was 
unconscious, she was breathing as quietly as a 
goddess in sleep. Then lifting her he set her down 
near the inner wall. Pemella went to the opening 
again, peered out and returned to bend over 
Louise. 

“A pretty little gypsy.” Pemella spoke softly 
after a minute of transfixed gaze. “Tonight you’ll 
be my bride. We’ll leave this dry western land 
for California and there under the big palms we 
will travel back and forth. Won’t we, little Blue¬ 
bonnet?” 

The cave’s silence, as profound as a tomb, was 
his only answer. 

“And if you wish we will go down into Mexico, 
to Sonora and Sinoloa, down, down, past the Sierra 
Madres in Durango and there in the quiet valleys 
we wfill camp and have the world our own. You 
will be my queen. And when the great fiesta comes 
in Orizaba we will go there and you will tell the 
fortunes of the finest. They’ll look upon my little 
blue-eyed queen and say, £ Ah, she is from 
Heaven. ’ 


[378 1 


VISIONS OF TRAGEDY 


But tonight we shall go. Before the moon 
comes up we are gone and Alsak will gnash his 
teeth in anger. He will look for you as I have 
looked for you. But it will be too late. We shall 
cross into New Mexico, to the mountains, travel 
the desert by night, then to California and you 
will be by my side, to smile. 

“My pretty little flower. Rasboi named you 
right, you are a flower. Not his but mine. A 
smile from you will be like the rain to the desert. 
It will be green and happy under it all. Pemella 
has missed you as the night misses the moon. We 
have had ill-fortune since you went away. The 
rivers have dried, the flo^vers have been burnt to 
stalks, the horses have no feed. In the big cities, 
too, they have turned on us like dogs. But with 
you Pemella can hope for better things. The desert 
heat will blow away, the great dust clouds will 
flatten, there will be rainbows and we will cross 
the Rio Grande to sunshine always. Never, never, 
shall we look back to Oklahoma, our eyes shall 
feast on mountain peaks in Mexico. The desert 
will be back of us and the hot winds and dry 
moons. But ahead there will be valleys and sun¬ 
shine and you. And you shall say come or go and 
the gypsy he will come or go. That is for you. 

“My heart is full of love for I have waited long. 
We have been from Pocatello to Shreveport and 


[179] 


WOLF MOON 


now you come like the Springtime. You come to 
me as a dream. But you love me too; we both love. 
You will, you must, be mine, and if you run away 
I will follow you—but you will not go. I will 
stay by your side until this gypsy ring is lost in 
the desert or marshes. But you will be mine for¬ 
ever, you must, you-” 

Pemella sprang from his knees and rushed 
toward the opening. Louise quivering under the 
barrage of soft words, spoken in the old tongue 
she knew, lay with mind throbbing with the real¬ 
ization that this gypsy was madly in love. His 
frequent kisses, she thought, must leave indellible 
red marks upon her cheeks, they were so hot, so 
lividly passionate. The loud drumming and throb¬ 
bing in her ears would force her to cry out; she 
must relieve her pent-up tension. Fear, shame, 
visions of tragedy mingled into one burning sensa¬ 
tion that flayed her nerves. In a moment she must 
shriek. Suddenly the bending man had ceased his 
sibilant monotone. 

Louise opened her eyes slowly. The cave was 
empty. A current of hot air swept in from the 
rocky mouth of the prison. But there was no sign 
of Pemella. Seemingly he had melted into the 
sun’s rays that poured through the narrow en¬ 
trance. 


[180 1 



Chapter XII. 


THE OUTBREAK OF THE BEAST 

w HERE’S Louise ? ’ ’ asked Jack as he sat down 
to the table at noon. 

“I’m wondering 1 ,” responded Mrs. Trichell, her 
solicitude augmented by the query. “She volun¬ 
teered to go for the mail a little while after you 
left with the boys and I haven’t seen her since. 
I’m becoming worried. I’ll get the glasses and 
see if she is on the road.” Mrs. Trichell went to 
the door. 

A moment later she announced: “Most of the 
dust’s out of the air but I can’t see her as far 
as the turn.” She swept the horizon with the 
binoculars but showed no sign of emotion. For a 
moment the glasses paused in their movement. 
They were pointed at Roundtop. 

“Jack, come here and tell me if you see anything 
near Roundtop. I thought for a minute that I 
saw someone moving on the trail. But perhaps I 
was mistaken.” 


[181] 



WOLF MOON 


Jack was positive lie saw a figure going slowly 
down the side. Without saying a word he returned 
the glasses to Mrs. Trichell, went to his room, filled 
his cartridge belt, strapped on his gun and paused 
long enough to say to her: 

“I believe I’ll reconoitre a bit. Louise may be 
out talking to strangers. If she comes home in the 
meantime I reckon you will find me near Round- 
top.” 

Bud Simpson dashed up to the back porch to 
announce: “Thunderbird’s out at the corral but 
nary a sign of Louise.” The news brought a cry 
of alarm from Mrs. Trichell. The riders left the 
table and ran to the door. 

More convinced than ever that something was 
afoot Jack wheeled his pony and started toward 
the village. Surmise after surmise crowded into 
his puzzled brain. At the end of the Christian 
ranch Jack drew rein suddenly and gazed down 
at the road. There in the sand were the half- 
obscured footprints of a horse headed toward 
Terlton; but none returning. Evidently Thunder- 
bird had come home another way. Either by the 
Gulch or Roundtop. A deep resolve took shape 
in Jack’s brain. Without wasting a moment he 
skirted the alfalfa field to the North of Christian’s 
and spurred Satellite to the next section trail. He 


[182] 


THE OUTBREAK OF THE BEAST 


turned at the fork and bore over beyond the East¬ 
ern outskirts of the town. Back in a small clearing 
of blackjacks stood a cabin, small, shoddy, falling 
to ruin. Jack stopped in front of it and halooed. 

The door swung open on its leather hinges and 
an Indian, with hair braided into two long strands 
that hung on either side of his wide shoulders, ap¬ 
peared. His small eyes set close together and far 
back in his head gave him a shrewd appearance. 
Like a sooth-sayer of a lost race he stood pictur¬ 
esque against the remnant of his cabin. 

Singing-in-the-Rain had come to Terlton as a 
renegade from justice long before Oklahoma Ter¬ 
ritory was thrown open in 1889. He was a Black- 
foot Indian and had wandered from tribe to tribe, 
from the Choctaws and Creeks on the East to the 
Apaches on the West. Some had said he was a 
spy and for this reason had been barred from tribal 
meetings. With the influx of pioneering whites 
Oklahoma gradually smoothed under civilization. 
The Government took charge of the Indians and 
built schools for its wards. Towns and cities sprang 
up on the prairies. The plains blossomed under 
cultivation. Then came oil. Barren lands spewed 
forth liquid gold. Indians became immensely 
wealthy, so rich, indeed, that guardians were ap¬ 
pointed to protect them from designing sharks. 


[183] 


WOLF MOON 


Singing-in-the-Rain was a wanderer from the 
Dakota reservation. He did not return there for 
the simple reason that law is eternally vigilant and 
unforgetful. Thus he relinquished all rights to 
partake of tribal money. After much adventure 
he went to live in the Panhandle of Oklahoma. In 
Terlton he built his abode when his arms were 
strong and his eyes far-seeing. From here he 
watched the white men herd the cattle and till the 
soil, and later saw wire fences stretched across 
ranges where once the buffalo trod upon their mys¬ 
terious migrations. Age did not stoop his shoul¬ 
ders but it grayed his hair and impounded him in 
a smaller horizon. On bitter days when northers 
swept down the mesa and through the hardy 
sage the cowboys gathered around Tuppert’s stove 
would say, “Wal, I reckon this heah spell ull git 
ole’ Singin’-in-the-Rain.” But when the Gulf 
wind tempered the biting air he would come to the 
village, a living refutation of the assertation that 
he was frozen stiff in his shack near the blackjacks. 
A hermit, if you will, but ever willing to lend his 
shaking hands in aid. 

*‘Singing-in-the-Rain, I’ve come for your help. 
I’m Jack Corcoran, one of the Christian riders. 
At Tuppert’s about a month ago you told Buster 


[184] 


THE OUTBREAK OF THE BEAST 


Christian and me that you had been in the Belle 
Starr cave. Is that so ? ’ ’ 

“Sure. I been there before the Arapahoes come 
west. There be five, six big places there, big as 
cabin here.” 

“Didn’t you say there was another way out of 
the cave, a secret passage?” 

“Yes, on other side, near spring.” 

“Well, I want you to come and show it to me.” 

“Now?” 

“Yes, right away.” 

“Where is White Robe?” 

“Who?” 

“White Robe, my pinto.” 

“Don’t see him. Get on behind here.” Jack 
helped the Indian mount. “Now what’s the short¬ 
est way to Roundtop ? ’ ’ 

“Go to town and out sandy road to big cotton¬ 
wood.” 

The pair crossed the railway tracks, plunged 
across the arroyo and mounted the opposite slope. 
One mile beyond the tableland and to the South 
lay Roundtop, like the discolored tusk of a giant. 

* ‘ Rain come soon. Rain in air, big storm mebbe. ’ ’ 

“Well, it won’t come too soon,” answered Jack. 
“Everything’s as dry as a pine cone. Does rain 
follow this dust and sand?” 


[185] 


WOLF MOON 


‘ ‘ Sometime mebbe, but Thunderbird moon bring 
bad storm.” 

“Thunderbird moon. What’s that.” 

“Blackfoot tribe call months moons. We say 
Berries-Ripe moon and Hot Suns moon. Thunder¬ 
bird moon bring thunder.” 

Something flashed into Jack’s mind, his last 
evening at Cape May, the fortune teller, the 
party on the beach. “What’s Wolf Moon?” he 
asked with interest. 

“Moon of Wolves?-February. Cold moon 

bring out wolves.” 

Jack mused for a moment on the answer of the 
Indian but a splotch of color at the foot of Round- 
top arrested his thought. 

“Ah, hah,” exclaimed Jack. “Look over there 
near Roundtop. Gypsies as I live. When did they 
come in? Hiding themselves on the North side 
of old Roundtop.” 

“Guadalajara’s tribe, mebbe. He comes here 
ebbery few years. Guadalajara big thief. He 
steal Indian’s horses. Me have big fight with 
Guadalajara long time ago. Me no want to meet 
Guadalajara now. Make me lose other eye.” 

“Don’t worry about Guadalajara. He won’t 
harm you if I have room to draw. All I want 
you to do is to show me that secret outlet to the 


[186] 



THE OUTBREAK OF THE BEAST 


cave. I have a hunch something’s wrong. By 
the way, do those gypsies know there is a cave at 
the top of Roundtop?” 

“Guadalajara, he knows. He hold big meeting 
with gypsies there. Want Indians to smoke with 
him. But Indians no go. Guadalajara keel many 
people and Indians afraid he keel them.” 

A few minutes later Jack and Singing-in-the- 
Rain dismounted near the camp. A large yellow 
tent surrounded by smaller ones was thrown in 
the center of the grove. A fat gypsy woman sat 
upon a trunk playing a violin. She seemed utterly 
unconcerned over the approach of the men but she 
was watching them from the corner of her eye. 
Two other gypsy women dressed less fantastically 
ambled near the edge of the clearing. They were 
pointing to the sky. 

‘ ‘ Where are the men ? ” Jack addressed his ques¬ 
tion to the woman sitting on the trunk. 

She humped her shoulders and let them drop. 
It was even more emphatic than a Spanish shrug. 

“Don’t you know?” Jack insisted. “Where is 
the chief?” 

“Pemella in town. I no know more.” She 
turned with mocking disconcern her full attention 
to the instrument. 


[187] 


WOLF MOON 


Seeing that nothing was to be gained by ques¬ 
tioning, Jack and the Indian turned toward the 
trail. 

‘ ‘ Me hear of Pemella lots, ’ ’ commented Singing- 
in-the-Rain. “He big man of Guadalajara’s band. 
Had big bear father named Pemella. Two sons 
as big as you—bigger.” 

“Let’s go slowly here,” whispered Jack as they 
came to the brush at the foot of the trail. “Let 
me see these tracks a moment. The sand seems 
to have covered up all but-” 

Jack stopped. There in the sand were the fresh 
imprints of two sets of tracks—one of a man and 
the other the unmistakeable small boot of a woman. 
It could not have been a gypsy woman’s step. 
Gypsy women in summer wear soft, comfortable 
slippers or mocassins. 

Jack was conscious at a glance that the footprints 
were Louise’s. He followed them until they 
swerved sharply off into the underbrush. The trail 
ahead was filled with soft unmarked sand. 

‘ ‘ This sure is queer, ’ ’ exclaimed Jack. ‘ ‘ It looks 
as if she was followed into the brush by these large 
tracks. But perhaps we will see them further on.” 
They advanced up the slope. 


[188] 



THE OUTBREAK OF THE BEAST 


“Now there’s only one and it comes in from 
the plains.” A cry of wonder escaped him. Just 
one track and I bet that belongs to Pemella.” 

While Jack stood in amazement a loud crash was 
heard in the brush to the right. Jack’s hand slip¬ 
ped to his gun. Singing-in-the-Rain crouched in 
the trail behind him. They remained silent a mo¬ 
ment but as no other sound followed Jack stepped 
back and whispered to the Indian. 

‘ ‘ That must have been Pemella. Too much noise 
for a girl. Sounded like we surprised him. We’ll 
just wait here a minute and then go on up to the 
cave. ’ ’ 

A little further on they perceived a man’s foot¬ 
prints going up and coming down the trail. Both 
looked fresh. Whoever it was, Jack surmised, 
had gone up to look around and then had come 
down to the foot of the trail to watch for intruders 
or searchers. Jack plunged upward, the Indian 
at his heels. He reckoned that the man he had 
met at the Gulch the evening before was Pemella. 
A fight with him would mean trouble. 

The stifling hot air beat down against the rocks 
and reflected in the face of the pair slowly toiling 
up the slope. Jack’s body felt on fire as if stung 
by a hundred vipers. The intense heat was op¬ 
pressive, something unusual for Oklahoma. 


[189] 


WOLF MOON 


“Whew! it’s hot. Singing-in-the-Rain, you’re 
right about that storm. Look back there.” A 
black cloud of immense proportions showed its 
menacing eyebrow on the horizon. A sharp can¬ 
nonade of thunder growled out of the west, while 
another rumble, deep-chested, hoarse, broke out. 

They kept on under the barrage of heat for mo¬ 
ments that spent themselves into seeming hours. 
Jack helped the Indian when he slipped back 
through the powdery sand covering the rocks. 

“Years ago me go up trail but not on hot day 
like this. Me keel robber here; wait three days 
until he come back,” Singing-in-the-Rain puffed 
out suspended gasps. 

“Save your wind,” Jack cautioned. “We’ve 
fifty feet more, mostly rock.” 

Jack turned back to the trail and bent under 
the strain that was telling on him. A huge shadow 
drifted over like a cool sheet. It was the sun 
disappearing under an onrushing cloud. 

“Look at those clouds scudding along. Aren’t 
they moving fast?” 

Singing-in-the-Rain turned to watch the clouds, 
black and gray and green, blanket the sky. 

“Heap big storm. It come soon. Thunderbird 
cry loud.” 


[190] 


THE OUTBREAK OF THE BEAST 


Jack gazed down toward the ranch. A group 
of riders was hesitating and pointing to the com¬ 
ing storm. Fissures of pearly fire whirligigged 
madly across the heavens. A terrific stillness stood 
over all. Now and then it was broken by a roar 
that increased in volume and then rolled down 
toward the Texas border. 

“Well, here we are,’' gasped Jack. “Some pull. 
Now I suppose we had better be a bit careful here. 
Do you remember the place ?” 

‘ ‘ Sure, me know well. ’ 1 The sentence came from 
the Indian bending over to peer into the cave. Only 
a splotch of blackness pasted itself before his eye. 

Over Jack’s shoulder the sky was rent in two 
with a blazing artery of fire. A crash that shook 
the hills broke near him. Down on the hillside a 
tree snapped with a responding report. A glitter 
of electricity zigzagged back toward the sky. Roll¬ 
ing, curling, with mad heads bending under the 
blazing ropes, the storm clouds swallowed the sun 
and swept on. The blackness of night settled down. 
Out of the west came an area of rain that flew like 
a silver phalanx driven by a cyclone. 

Jack turned toward the cave; Singing-in-the- 
Rain had disappeared inside. Though the crash 
and warfare of the elements he thought he heard 
a shrill feminine cry. It might have been only 


[191] 


WOLF MOON 


the first wild shrieks of the storm. The crash and 
boom of the sky surf smothered whosoever ’s voice 
it was. Jack turned to the cave and knelt at the 
entrance. The first raindrops splashed across the 
rocks in front of him and soaked into the sand. 
Whether it was the human note of a wild peal of 
thunder or of some terror seizing him, Jack re¬ 
coiled and sprang back. There, glowering with the 
storm and crouching at the head of the trail, was 
Pemella. His bulging form was outlined against 
the black of the sky, a panther against the night. 
A livid streak of electricity from the forked 
tongues of the sky serpents coiled in the clouds 
lighted his face, lived in his black eyes and dis¬ 
played the raging beast within. With a short 
sweep of his hand he brushed back his heavy hat 
to the rocks below. His dark hair blended with 
the sky, his eyes matched the thundering clouds. 
A dash of rain came down over them touseling 
Pemella’s hair until it appeared shaggy. 

Jack’s muscles grew as taut as cowhide, his 
throat blistered, his fingers grew tense. Like two 
animals in combat they faced each other, high in 
the air as cliff-dwellers of old had fought. This 
was to be a battle to the end for the hunter held 
a death glint in his eye. Jack summoned all his 
strength to his arms and waited for the outbreak 


[192] 


THE OUTBREAK OF THE BEAST 


of this fanatic. Pent-up passion was lunging for 
an outlet to destruction, tearing at its fetters like 
the roiling waters of a dammed river. 

Forced out of the sky by the tensity of the 
elements came a long thin finger of fire that split 
into a nest of white twitching veins. Just as it 
broke, Pemella, seemingly on top of the screaming, 
screeching fire, sprang. 

Jack rose half way to meet him. 


7 


[193] 


Chapter XIII. 


PRISON WALLS 

T HE sunlight streaming through the rocky mouth 
of the cave enabled Louise to discern her prison. 
High walls reached to an arched roof of gray rock. 
Jutting pieces of stone bordered the ceiling, while 
a small locker cut by nature or man could be seen 
indented near the posterior end of the cavern. 
There was a damp smell to the place, even the 
rock on which she lay felt cold and clammy. 
Through the opening poured a strong current cf 
oppressive air, heavy, as if coming off a lagoon. 

Louise endeavored to untie her hands but they 
were fastened securely; she tried to rise to her 
feet only to find them bound with strips of cloth. 
After minutes of gnawing pain, in which she pulled 
and tugged in desperation, Louise despaired of 
forcing her hands or feet free. 

When would Pemella return? Where was Jack 
and the boys? Had they missed her from the 


[194] 



PRISON WALLS 


ranch? In any event they would never dream of 
searching for her on Roundtop. While she lay 
dreaming under the spell of her situation the long 
rays of sunlight that poured into the cavern re¬ 
ceded. A sudden darkness from the interior cham¬ 
bers seemed to rush to the anterior cave so that 
she could hardly perceive the opposite wall. Had 
someone shut off the sunlight from the cavern? 
For a moment Louise surmised that Pemella was 
closing the cave, sealing her within. 

Her thoughts were arrested by voices outside, 
but she could not distinguish the tones. A loud 
reverberation followed by further darkness ap¬ 
prised her of the coming storm. Pemella must 
have returned with someone yet she could not 
divine who it could be. Suddenly, as one lowering 
a curtain, a shroud of black filled the doorway and 
blocked the opening. 

Louise peered and saw the figure of an Indian 
crawling slowly toward her, his long braids trailing 
in the dust. She had seen him several times in 
the village wandering about listlessly but she had 
never inquired his name or who he was. Her first 
impression was that he must be in league with 
Pemella. The Indian advanced slowly and lifted 
his almost sightless eyes toward her. A shriek of 
fright escaped her throat, a shriek that echoed and 


[195] 


WOLF MOON 


re-echoed in the caverns beyond. Cringing, drawing 
her knees near her face she waited as the Indian 
advanced toward her, his form blotting out the 
feeble light. The noisy fusilade of thunder rum¬ 
bled outside and came into the cave reverberating 
fiercely. It was followed by Jack’s startled cry 
as if in surprise or alarm. An agonized groan, 
cut short by some stern force, mingled with Jack’s 
voice. 

“Jack! Jack!” Louise shouted ringingly in 
paroxysm of joy. “Jack, I’m here,” she tore at 
her fetters in a frenzy until her face grew purple 
under the strain. “Oh, Jack, this Indian!” 

Singing-in-the-Rain, absorbed by her predica¬ 
ment, felt his way along the wall until he came 
to her side. Louise recoiled at his touch and turned 
as far as possible from the long bony fingers of the 
red man. 

“Jack, Jack, come quick!” 

“He come. Me help. No move now.” 

Louise felt his hand touch her throat, then move 
down upon her arm to grasp it firmly. She 
turned her face toward the wall, helpless. The 
Indian perceived in a moment that she was bound. 
Then he touched her fetters and slowly untied 
them. Immediately Louise loosed the band at her 
ankles. Looking up at her deliverer in the gloom 


[196] 


PRISON WALLS 


a flood of mingled pathos and thanksgiving flooded 
her spirit. Without uttering a word she stumbled 
frightened toward the mouth of the cave. 

As she plunged forward a flood of fire leaped 
in, a detonation jarred her to her knees, a terrific 
pressure expanded in the cave and bulged within 
her ears. The world outside appeared blazing as 
if in eruption. Following the blinding stream of 
light came a shower of sand, pebbles, rocks, dust, 
darkness. Something had fallen against the open¬ 
ing, shutting them in as securely as a safe. Louise 
crept through the flood of dusty lava and pounded 
against the obstruction, a massive boulder. In a 
saner mood she would have seen the folly of it all 
but obsessed with fright and despair she clawed 
savagely into the sand and scraped back piles of 
rock and dirt. She screamed again and again 
Jack’s name but only the cave mocked her. Again 
she tried her weight against the slab but it was 
unyielding. Pulling back stones and loose dirt 
she came to the base of the rock. This was the 
end. No force of man could go farther. 

Singing-in-the-Rain went to her side. Together 
they shoved against the boulder. It would net 
move. Had the flank of a mountain toppled and 
caught there the imprisonment could not have 
been more secure. 


[197] 


WOLF MOON 


“Oh, God, we’re locked inside. We’re lost. 
Jack! Jack! Come to me.” Louise sank her head 
against her bosom. What could she do? What 
was there to be done? Had the rock’s fall been 
delayed she could have been on the outside and 
in Jack’s arms. She woud have kissed him a thou¬ 
sand times. Under the torture of her position she 
now saw the folly of visiting the camp. It was 
her impetuous curiosity that had plunged her into 
this peril. Why in the name of Heaven had she 
approached the camp, walked into the hands of 
an enemy, a tyrant who would crush her, shame 
her before the world and flay her delicate soul? 
Why had God permitted such foolhardy intrusion ? 
Upbraiding added bitterness to her retrospection 
but brought forth no deliverance. Suddenly she 
realized the Indian was grunting words into her 
ear. 

“Huh, Thunderbird move rock. But Singing- 
in-the-Rain no care. Me show way out.” 

Louise looked at him wide-eyed, fired to new 
hope and encouragement. The consciousness of 
being alone with him in the cave gripped her with 
fear. She thought of the Indian for a moment as 
a wicked, savage creature, the primitive man re¬ 
turning to his coppery form. 


[ 198 ] 


PRISON WALLS 


“You know a way out?” She found herself 
repeating at his knees. How? Oh take me out 
now, now, before it’s too late.” 

“Me know way. You come. Long time ago I 
go out.” 

Abandonment to the direction of the Indian in¬ 
sulated her from further fear. She surrendered 
to his offer of escape, followed him as he led the 
way to the second chamber. Into a third and 
fourth room by narrow openings Louise crawled 
at his heels. He did not hesitate. Obviously he 
was finding his way along the wall, for Louise felt 
its clammy side against her arm. The Indian 
stopped and in the silence came naught save the 
steady drip, drip of water. 

“Big hole over there. We go here.” He turned, 
retraced his steps to the left and felt along the 
side. 

“Here be place,” he announced as he stood and 
placed his hand in a small niche in the rock. Fur¬ 
ther up he found another. He had discovered 
where they could cross into the other chamber. 
Singing-in-the-Rain climbed slowly, testing the 
niches. They seemed as strong as when years ago 
he had escaped the same way. He reached the top 
and dropped down on the other side. Louise heard 
him calling to her and his voice sounded deep and 


[ 199 ] 


WOLF MOON 


cavernous. She mounted the wall, reached the top 
and peered over. She was expecting to see an 
opening through which they could crawl to the 
outer world. Only a gulf of darkness met her eyes. 

‘ ‘ Big drop, big drop, ’ ’ the Indian was cautioning 
her. Louise ran her fingers along the top of the 
wall and found that it was wide enough on which 
to turn. She lowered herself slowly to discover if 
she could touch the earth. But her feet swung 
free. She attempted to clamber back but the shocks 
of the day had weakened her, robbed her muscles 
of their strength. Her fingers lost their hold and 
she slid, down, down. Louise alighted on her feet 
but she crumbled to her knees with the fall. A 
stinging pain ran through her ankles and she lay 
for a moment where she had fallen until the peril 
of her predicament aroused her. 

A faint scratching from the other side of the 
cave fell on her ear. 

‘ ‘ Where are you f ’ 9 she cried. 

“Me here. You come here.” 

Louise crawled to where she heard the Indian. 

“No see hole. It shut, too, mebbe.” He was 
digging with his fingers into the damp floor near 
the wall. 

“A long time ago me crawl out here. Many 
moons gone now.” Singing-in-the-Rain continued 
to scrape back the earth. Occasionally he paused 


[200 ] 


PRISON WALLS 


to utter “Ugh.” It apprised Louise of nothing. 
Perhaps it was the Indian’s way of expressing dis¬ 
gust or disappointment. 

A desire to close her eyes came to Louise. The 
air in the inner chamber was growing heavy and 
condemning her to a lethargy that made her limbs 
sink and her arms fall to her sides. A veritable 
torrent of thought rushed to her mind when she 
relaxed. Where was Jack? Surely he knew that 
she was in the cave for he had shouted before the 
rock fell. She could not understand why he did 
not enter with the Indian. But that shriek of 
terror was unmistakeably his. Perhaps he was in 
trouble. 

Louise was seized with a desire to run back to 
the first room. Perhaps by this time Jack had 
thrown aside the rock and was there searching for 
her. Then flashed upon her mind the realization 
that she and the Indian were prisoners, perhaps, 
eternally to be shut up in this inner temple. There 
were niches in the wall on the other side but in 
this room there were none. They had no imple¬ 
ments with which to hew any. The thought of 
impending doom, of starving to death in the dark¬ 
ness, of men in years to come searching this inner 
recess and discovering their whitened bones to¬ 
gether made Louise choke back a violent surge that 
persisted in mounting higher in her throat. She 


[ 201 1 


WOLF MOON 


felt like weeping, sobbing aloud, but the sound 
would only distract the Indian scraping and drag¬ 
ging back earth from under the shelf of rock. 
Louise ran her fingers over the pile of dirt. It 
had mounted high. But would all this toil lead 
anywhere ? Surely the relentless Indian must have 
a purpose, must know his mind. Perhaps he was 
only digging a grave for both of them. The con¬ 
sideration of horrible, untimely death created a 
thirst that parched her throat and flushed her face 
with feverish blood. The sinister thoughts made 
Louise brain-fagged; the incidents of the day with 
their gruelling, harrowing frights and circum¬ 
stances had weakened her mentally and physically 
and before long she was claimed by sleep. 

How long the Indian worked and slaved under 
the rock Louise never knew. But something awak¬ 
ened her, a shout of triumph. She must have slept 
long for her feet were buried in the dirt and sand, 
the pile had risen to an immense height as she 
was forced to kneel in order to reach the top. 

“Does it open out?” Louise hurried to ask. 

“Me find grass, roots, wet mud. Soon now we 
go.” 

In her eagerness Louise stooped and helped him. 
Side by side she was toiling with the Indian, pull¬ 
ing big handfuls of earth back toward the center. 
Without warning an avalanche of loose dirt fell 


[ 202 ] 


PRISON WALLS 


in, seemingly undoing their work. Louise sat back 
disappointed but Singing-in-the-Rain only toiled 
the harder. He realized that the free earth meant 
that they were getting close to the outer crust. 
Singing-in-the-Rain grunted loudly and his breath 
grew heavy. 

A ray of light shot into the cave for a moment 
only to be shut out. The Indian shouted in glee. 
Victory was theirs for it would not be long now 
until the surface was reached. Spurred on by the 
light which stole in as a ray of hope into a dark 
soul the pair bent to work and soon another blade 
of silver shot through the darkness. They dug and 
tore at the hole furiously until the opening grew 
larger—until it let the Indian through. Louise 
followed w T ith an alacrity that showed her willing¬ 
ness to escape from the prison. With eyes blood¬ 
shot, her face wan, and streaked with grime, her 
cheeks wet with tears of joy, Louise knelt for a 
moment and thanked God for her deliverance. The 
moment was supreme. Out of the physical dark¬ 
ness where her eyes were tortured with a sea of 
black void, out of the spiritual pit indicted to the 
crushing weight of despair and blasted hope she 
was delivered and as she knelt out in the open 
a Te Deum of gratitude sped upward from her 
soul. This was life, expansive, free, untrammeled; 
this was life to bow down under the stars and 


[ 203 ] 


WOLF MOON 


thank the Creator; this was life to feel the God- 
given sweep of air against her face, to draw it into 
her starving lungs. What manner of creature could 
escape this force driving her to obeisant thanks? 
There was something hopeful and sublime to be 
able to rise again from the morass of abandon, es¬ 
pecially when she had been born to suffer, to dis¬ 
aster, to despair, to die in the throes of hideous 
death. Out under the canopy of the sky she felt 
a magnificent rebuke to her morbid oppression. 
Why turn back upon the panorama of the past, 
why not look out and beyond where nature told 
her to be calm and happy, to live, with that bird 
pouring out its soul to the evening air? 

Through eyes flooded with tears Louise looked 
up at the Indian who gazed down upon her sup¬ 
plicating form. He, too, seemed to be communing 
with his Great Spirit. Immovable, filled with con¬ 
templation, with the ghost of a drawn smile upon 
his face he watched in close scrutiny her pale lips 
move in prayer. He spoke no word but he seemed 
conscious of the fallen benediction. 

Louise did not realize the length of time she 
had spent in the cave until she glanced up at the 
sky. Twilight was coming down upon a world 
that despite its trials and sorrows was a sweet 
one for her. The storm was over and gone but 
back in the east the last colors of a rainbow were 


[ 204 ] 


PRISON WALLS 


draining back into its pot of gold. The air was 
so clear and crystalline that one star, magnificent 
in its dominance, throbbed in the sky like a dia¬ 
mond on the blue breast of a far-world goddess. 
Down below Louise could see sparks flying from 
the gypsys’ campfire and mingling with the shad¬ 
ows of the trees. 

They had come out upon the North side of the 
mountain. Only the brown plain fading away into 
the river bottom in the distance met their vision 
and stranded it out where dusk and earth and 
horizon blended. Louise drew in breathfuls of air 
cooled by the storm. The trees were still dripping 
water and the rocks washed free of sand and dust. 

Without a word Singing-in-the-Rain started 
around the side of the hill toward the trail. Sud¬ 
denly he stopped in his tracks, crouched low and 
threw back a low “Hist” to the girl. 

Louise stopped and listened but heard nothing 
but the mournful unison of the insects’ evening 
hymn. Shouts from below, staccato and far-off, 
told her the gypsies were stirring in camp. The 
Indian was bent in front of her as statuesque as 
bronze, his braids of hair tipping the wet rocks. 
He turned his head from side to side with listening 
intent and then crept forward a step or two. He 
had heard something close, perilously close, for he 
felt for the knife in his belt. A pebble loosed from 


[ 205 ] 


WOLF MOON 


its mooring rattled down the rocks. Someone was 
coming up the trail. 

Louise and Singing-in-the-Rain, as silent as the 
stars that looked down from their blue bloom of 
twilight, crouched behind the rocks and waited 
with bated breath. 


[ 206 ] 


Chapter XIV. 


THE GYPSY’S CURSE 

Ti HE whinny of Thunderbird at the corral sent 
a wave of consternation through the riders. Mrs. 
Trichell sank back into a chair while her husband 
shouted orders to the men. 

“ John, I believe that Tulane has done something 
desperate. I’ve asked you to get rid of him a 
hundred times. I never liked his sneaky actions 
and his friendship for Louise.” 

“Tulane was with the boys all morning. He 
rounded up some strays.” 

“Well, then, where can Louise be?” 

John Trichell had no answer. Her disappear¬ 
ance puzzled him completely. Yet he did not 
connect Tulane with her detention. The riders 
had seen him on the range all morning; he had 
never gone out of their sight. After a few minutes 
of deep thought he decided to send his men to 
search for her in every direction. Bill Hawkins 


[ 207 1 



WOLF MOON 


was ordered to the village, and Seth Hopkins sent 
over to the Gulch. 

“Tulane, go up past Roundtop and cross down 
into the flats. There’s no reason for her to get 
lost. Maybe Thunderbird stumbled and threw her. 
Search every spot of the range and do it pronto. 
There’s a storm coming.” 

Hawkins discovered that Louise had gotten the 
mail. Hunter declared he had watched her loping 
back on the road toward the ranch. No one could 
be found who had seen her after that. 

Tulane Baisan rode North toward Roundtop and 
when a mile from the ranch turned his pony 
toward the Gulch. He crossed the cap and headed 
down the slope. After reaching the mouth of the 
gully he gazed up and down the valley, but Pe- 
mella was not in sight. He had promised to meet 
him near the pass early that afternoon. It was 
here that they were to complete arrangements for 
the kidnapping of Louise. Tulane swore to Pemella 
that he was going back to the old gypsy life and 
that he would move on with them as soon as Louise 
was captured. In their clandestine conversations 
Pemella had promised to let him have Louise but 
Tulane disbelieved him for he recalled that it 
was in Galveston years before that he had 
cut adrift from the band because of a quarrel 
over a woman. Now Tulane was swift on the 


[ 208 1 


TIIE GYPSY’S CURSE 


draw, a little swifter than his brother he be¬ 
lieved. He hung on to the idea, imbibing strength 
and sweetness from it. 

Tulane skirted the underbrush and dashed 
through the blackjacks. He guided his pony out 
upon jutting shelves commanding a view of the 
valley, rode down under beetling bluffs and 
threaded his way through narrow canyonic spurs— 
but there was no sight of Pemella. Drawing under 
a clump of blackjacks he listened for sounds or 
signs that would apprise him of Pemella’s rendez¬ 
vous. But only the lonesome, sad whisperings of 
the brush came to his ear. A wind, heavy and 
oppressive, shook dust from leaves and then was 
still. A rider skirting the Eastern mesa of sage 
could not have seen the man and alike was he 
hidden from eyes on the Northern bluff. A feeling 
of impending disaster or crisis placed its heavy 
hands on the man’s breast, made him turn in his 
saddle and look toward the rocky blades of the 
hill between the Gulch and Garrett’s. Prairie 
dogs standing statuesque near their burrows met 
his gaze but there was no other sign of life, no 
bird in the brown sky. The pre-storm oppression 
was stifling the voice of nature, hushing the insects 
on the mesa. An intimation of the proximity of 
Pemella engendered fear in Tulane’s heart yet he 
could not localize it, reduce it to certainty of 
direction. Something was occuring that demanded 
[ 209 ] 


WOLF MOON 


liis attention, yet the inner voice was powerless to 
warn him which way to turn. A low mumble, as 
a bee in a bottle, caused his pony to stiffen his 
ears in attention. Without touch of spur, or com¬ 
mand, the horse started to walk from under the 
foliage and out the trail to the valley below. 
Tulane did not arrest him. A puff of wind from 
the South laden with moisture felt cooling on his 
brow, heated with disappointment and concern. 
He had expected to come upon Pemella and Louise 
somewhere in the valley or the hills. The bitter 
conviction that stirred the fires within him was 
that he had been double-crossed by his brother. 
Instead of waiting for their plans to mature and 
lure Louise to the Gulch he had devised a scheme 
himself, put it into effect, kidnapped her, broken 
camp, and was now moving across the plains to 
the north. It would be maddening to let Pemella 
thus swoop the prize out of his arms.. After he 
had lived near her for years, watching her from 
day to day as she grew from a gypsy urchin into 
a delicate, refined woman, it would be shameful, 
supine improvidence on his part to let her be 
snatched away by his infamous brother who would 
bend and break her to his mad desires. He re¬ 
belled at the surmise as if analyzing a reality. 

Satisfied that Pemella had not hidden Louise 
in the many pockets of the Gulch Tulane dug his 


[210 1 


THE GYPSY’S CURSE 


rowel vigorously into Nep’s side and mounted the 
shelving slope. Near the top he shouted to Seth 
Hopkins who was skirting the trees on the western 
side, and lashing his pony with the end of the rope 
spurred on toward Roundtop. 

There lay the camp, to his surprise. He had 
avoided it in the past because Nava hated him with 
a bitterness that sprang from revengeful blood. 
Some day he would go back to the band, he thought, 
but only as its leader. This would not be until 
Pemella died. 

Tulane dismounted and tied his pony, taking no 
chance on simply throwing the reins over his head. 
Nava’s tent stood out like the main show of a cir¬ 
cus. He walked through a pack of urchins who 
turned on him in the tongue he knew. From the 
entrance he could see Nava lying on her cot half 
asleep, a small troup of flies crawling over her 
coppery skin. To his eyes she seemed to have 
grown fatter, uglier, a network of wrinkles had 
criscrossed the sagging flesh of her face and neck. 
The violent red of her head dress emphasized her 
age. 

Nava turned quickly as the shadow fell across 
her. 

‘ ‘ Aha! the pig is back. ’ ’ Hissing she arose and 
turned toward him, speaking their native tongue. 


[211] 


WOLF MOON 


Tulane stood for a moment his eye lids batting 
like an animal’s under a high light and gazed 
fiinchingly above her head. 

“Where’s Pemella?” 

“You come stealing like a snake to my tent. 
How do I know where Pemella is? He’s chief. He 
does not tell all. But you’re not chief. You—” 

‘ ‘ I say where’s Pemella ? ” His voice heightened 
and struck a tense note. 

“Pemella runs with the sun. His shadow is 
swifter than the eagle’s. He comes, he goes, but 
I never know, you never know.” 

“Pemella is after that woman.” He knew her 
weakness and lanced it unsparingly. 

Nava’s eyes spit fire. “What woman?,” she 
demanded. 

“You know what woman. Bluebonnet, the one 
who was wiser than you, who ran through your 
fingers. Pemella has told you.” 

“Bluebonnet,” she repeated, rising to a stiffer 
posture. 

“Yes, she’s here in camp.” 

“Nava’s curse will fall on your fool mouth. I 
know nothing of Bluebonnet here. You spider 
where is she?” 

“She’s here in camp,” he exploded with venom. 

‘ ‘ Blattering fool! She’s not here, ‘ ‘ she returned 
with fire. “I have not seen her for two years. 


[212] 


THE GYPSY’S CURSE 


But if I get my fingers down her neck I will shake 
her like this. Now I see why Pemella has come 
back to this country—to find her. Pemella talks 
night and day, he mutters like the wind in the 
trees. He must see her, must find her—the little 
devil. He has found her—I see. But if she comes 
to camp, I’ll kill, kill-” 

“You’ll not kill her,” Tulane’s- eyes flamed. 

“That Indian will die between my hands,” she 
added with an impetuous shake of her arms. 

“Indian? She’s white. They call her Louise 
Trichell.” There was spite and exultant boast in 
his voice. 

“Hah! Louise Trichell. The devil with a name 
like that! And you called her little fool,” she 
laughed sardonically. 

Tulane fell back in surprise. 

“Yes, you. You beat her around camp ten 
years ago. You called her Lunatico, fool brain.” 

“Is she Lunatico?” 

“Ox, your memory is like a toadstool, gone in 
the night.” 

“Then she belongs to -” 

“Guadalajara. He held her for money but they 
didn’t have it. Then he brought her to Texas. But 
she’s a rat. She knows she’s white. We got her 
too late. But how did she get here?” 


[213] 




WOLF MOON 


“By freight. I saw her in a car one morning 
and brought her to the ranch.’’ Tulane pointed 
to the South. 

“You stupid fool! Why didn’t you bring her 
back to camp?” 

“You’re the fool. Know her after ten years? 
How could I tell you were camping close?” 

“Curse the luck that has come down. Where’s 
Pemella now?” 

“I thought you knew.” 

A snarl of contempt at his unfounded surmise 
followed. Evidently she wished to end the con¬ 
versation. She turned her back to him and again 
lay down. A moment later the storm broke. It 
lashed the tent in its fury and swept through the 
grove like a maddened, unseen beast, sending the 
children scurrying under and into wagons. The 
tethered horses backed on their lariats and pulled 
up the stakes. Here and there a man appeared 
dragging in saddles, while a few women ran for 
blankets. Gypsy girls hurriedly took down cloth¬ 
ing, checkered, crossed and criss-crossed in various 
colors. 

“Rain. Now we move again I hope. Always 
watching and waiting for something. The queen 
has not told fortunes for months. We are in Santa 
Fe, Albuquerque, Tucson, one day and the next 
we are gone. There is no time, no time, he says. 


[ 214 ] 


THE GYPSY’S CURSE 


But I see it all now. It’s that she-devil. She has 
been leading him on.” Then rising in explanation 
she continued her harangue. “In Ponca City we 
stop one day but at midnight we go on. Pemella 
walks up and down the streets, looking right and 
left into faces. The same in El Reno, Chickasha, 
Pawhuska. He even watched the trains come and 
go in Oklahoma City in hopes of seeing her. He 
comes back, raving, swearing that he will find her. 
Then we move again, again, from North to South, 
in towns and cities. We crossed the desert twice, 
back and forth, went as far as Needles and San 
Diego, then up to Goldfield, to Pocatello, to Den¬ 
ver, to Topeka and down to Tulsa. But it was 
always the same. In Shreveport he thought he 
saw, but he was mistaken. And off we go again 
through swamps and bayous till we come to the 
plains. And here we are where Guadalajara 
camped years ago. But I see now why we wait 
here. He’s found the wretch. Hah! In love with 
that tarantula. But when she comes back I’ll be 
ready.” The red skin of the woman bulged like 
a gorged snake, her teeth ground, her lips were 
compressed together. 

“Ready for what?” 

“To kill her.” 


[215] 


WOLF MOON 


Tulane bristled. His hand reached for his gun. 
“If you try to kill—” the twitching fingers on 
the bone handle were significant. 

A loud forced laugh rang out amid a clap of 
thunder. 

“Another fool in love. Two heads and hearts 
turned by the snake. If I had only killed her when 
she was in my hands. Bah! You like white girl 
but gypsy girl no good. Gypsy marry gypsy, never. 
You keep white girl in fine silk but gypsy girl goes 
naked. You’re not one of your band; you’re a 
traitor. ’ ’ 

The word blistered his feelings. He gnashed 
under the insult, felt a sudden rush of passion to 
tear the woman to pieces, yet the block of truth 
on which the assertion rested rendered vindication 
imposible. It was best to ignore her tirade, to 
capitulate silently. 

Watching her stealthily from the corner of his 
eye he advanced to the tent flap and glanced out 
at the driving rain. He felt her presence and it 
made him ill at ease. In reality he preferred the 
drenching gale, the uproarious elements, to being 
cooped within the tent with the queen. The strange 
power ascribed to her, yet which he had never 
seen displayed, bound him in a spell of nervous 
fear. Her glowering eyes moved back and forth 
as he moved and never left him. Like a pagan 


f 216 ] 


THE GYPSY’S CURSE 


statue instilled with life she sat immobile while 
the storm fitfully tore past the tent. Moaning and 
wailing with infinite grief the wind shrilled its 
death song with the bass notes of the thunder. 
It flayed his conscience, made sensitive by the ac¬ 
cusation of 4 ‘traitor.” Perhaps he should return 
to the band and bow his head to the decrees of the 
chief. But mounting above his contrition came 
the vision of Louise, appealing in its perfection, 
goading him to a new flight of fury that would 
bridge thousands of years or miles, it would force 
him to the ends of the earth to claim her as his own. 
The ebbing tide of possession left him with a feel¬ 
ing of empty hands. She had been snatched from 
his arms. A wall of water swept in by the wind 
dashed in Tulane’s face. A narrow gash of fire 
ran its irregular length from horizon to zenith rip¬ 
ping the clouds into chesty detonations. From afar 
off he thought he perceived a cry for help. His 
wonderment increased with the blackness of the 
storm, the intensity of the lightning, and the tor¬ 
rents of rain whipped with hurricane force. Tu- 
lane paced up and down near the opening, looking 
out from time to time at his horse backing up 
against the storm. Overhead the heavens were 
rent with cracks of gold that lighted the tent as 
if by some monstrous firefly. 


[217] 


WOLF MOON 


Nava watched him with curious intent as he 
nervously walked back and forth. Later she spoke 
in a voice quivering with sarcasm. 

“When do you come back to the band, today, 
tomorrow, never? Guadalajara sleeps but he would 
rise if he knew you wander. His trust in you has 
been shaken.” 

“Guadalajara was the biggest thief of all. He 
was never with the band. But I’ll come back, 
I’ll come back when-” 

He looked toward Roundtop. Its head was shut 
in by the murky blackness; wisps of light clouds 
passed under the heavy laden sky like a veil 
of incense before a heathen god. As he looked he 
saw a bundle of fire in the black sky bowl plunge 
down. It broke into a shower of molten gold as 
it struck the crest of the hill. No sooner had it 
touched the peak than Tulane’s ears seemed to 
split, the whole world turned inside out, the tent 
shook wildly, the universe was splintered into 
atoms of fire. Nava sprang from her cot as Tulane 
dropped to the ground. She was glaring at him 
like a demon. Be felt his arm—it had not with¬ 
ered. A fear grasped his heart, fear of the woman 
and her curse. 

With eyes set on her he cautiously backed out 
into the wild raging storm. 


[218] 


Chapter XV. 


NEW BORN TO GREATNESS 

T ULANE’S horse frightened by the thunder¬ 
clap fled before him through the brush. Circling 
the camp the drenched man dashed under the drip¬ 
ping trees and reached a sheltering rock. He felt 
that Pemella had hidden Louise somewhere near 
the camp and was waiting for nightfall to hitch 
the horses and move on under cover of darkness. 
The riderless pony, the deserted Gulch and no trace 
of Louise convinced him that she had been cap¬ 
tured by Pemella and carried off to a rendezvous. 
But eventually he must come to camp by the rock 
guarding the trail. From his position Tulane 
could observe the trail running red with water and 
the tents rocking under the gusts of wind. 

Not until the storm had passed and twilight 
fallen did he stir from the rock. He would go back 
to the ranch. It was possible that Louise already 
was there and Pemella in town moored by the 
storm. As he trailed back over the path it carried 


[219] 



WOLF MOON 


him upward before it veered off toward the clear¬ 
ing to the south and the ranch. 

It occured to Tulane as he was scaling the incline 
that Pemella might have carried Louise to the 
cave. The surmise forced him to a new decision. 
Instead of turning out on the plain he continued 
on up the mount. Goaded to decisive action he 
climbed hastily through the gathering dusk. Not 
once checking his footsteps he arrived at the top 
breathless, puffing out suspended gasps, expecting 
to see Pemella and Louise struggling furiously, as 
if they could have fought on through the storm 
until night. 

At the very summit Tulane crouched low in sur¬ 
prise. There before him lay a man face downward. 
His trained eye told him he had been lying there 
a long time for his clothing was soaked by the 
storm. He swept the rocky shelf with his eye, 
searching for the man’s foe. Only the displaced 
boulder sealing the cave transfixed his attention. 
Tulane walked slowly forward expecting an attack 
from ambush. Nervously he turned the man’s 
body. 

It was Jack Corcoran. 

Mystery piled upon mystery in Tulane’s wonder¬ 
ing brain. An intense show of consternation crept 
to his eyes. The incomprehensible situation of Jack 
lying there near the overhanging cliff, alone, seem- 


[ 220 ] 


NEW BORN TO GREATNESS 


ingly lifeless, stirred his imagination into a phan- 
tasmagora of puzzled pictures. Tulane bent to 
touch Jack’s arm. Before his finger nerves could 
register the sensation he looked up, startled, to see 
Louise and Singing-in-the-Rain approaching from 
the side of the cave. 

Tulane stepped back speechless. Louise fell for¬ 
ward and placed her hand on Jack’s face. It was 
wet and warm, and the warmth sent a bound of 
hope through her body. Behind her the Indian 
stood immobile. 

‘‘Jack are you hurt? Tell me,” she pleaded ur¬ 
gently. A large blue mark showed above his fore¬ 
head. Louise wiped the dirt and grime from his 
face and raised his head but it fell back against 
her breast. She rubbed his hands animatedly, 
pushed back his dripping hair and spoke to him, 
her voice quivering as that of a mother bending 
over a sick child. 

“Jack! Jack!” she whispered. “Won’t you 
speak ? ’ ’ 

A long tremor shot through his body. She 
thought she saw his hand move—just a semblance 
of motion. 

“Jack speak to me. Are you badly hurt?” 

He opened his eyes slowly for a moment that 
passed as a year. When he reopened them her face 
was over his and he caught the gleam of her eye. 


[221] 


WOLF MOON 


“Jack this is Louise.’’ 

“Louise!” he ejaculated, as if unable to under¬ 
stand. 

“Yes, Louise. Do you recognize me?” 

“Yes, yes, but he’s gone.” 

“Who’s gone?” 

‘ ‘ Pemella! ’ ’ 

Tulane leaned closer as he heard the name. The 
scowl of contempt shot from his twitching face. 

“Where is he?” inquired Louise. 

“Gone, the lightning struck, he’s gone.” 

Tulane’s black eyes glinted with a new fire. He 
gazed awkwardly and with an intentness that 
showed some great thought had swung into his 
brain. Then he leaped toward the brink of the 
gulf. Far below on a small ledge he saw the dark 
form, twisted, broken, caught among the crags. 
Tulane’s eyes peered down through the gloom as 
an animal’s seeking prey, his quarry in sight. 
Overcome by a feeling of exultation, a cry of tri¬ 
umph as if it had been stored up for years, sprang 
from his throat. In a bound he reached the head 
of the trail and plunging, sliding, hurried down 
the slope. Near the bottom he dashed under the 
wet trees, slipped along high boulders and climbed 
toward the ledge where hung the body of his broth¬ 
er. In the blackness of the small gorge he per¬ 
ceived a red sear across his face turned blue in 


[ 222 ] 


NEW BORN TO GREATNESS 


agonizing death. Even his eyes seemed to be shot 
with a ghastly color accentuated by the livid flesh. 
The sight of Pemella’s body in the rocks filled him 
with fear, the outstretched arms appealed to him 
for aid. Instead he unleashed his impounded 
desire for unlimited possession. Tulane cringed 
for a moment. Flinching and cowering until the 
gathering shadows hastened him to his purpose, 
he reached up, pulled the ring with the large blue 
stone from Pemella’s finger, gloated over the prize 
momentarily and turned quickly toward the camp. 
Gross, dominant, flushed with triumph, in that 
supreme moment, he felt a mastery over space, the 
stars, the sky. The camp under the trees was his 
vehicle to move to greatness, the world was bis 
kingdom. What cared he now for a mere woman. 
Louise was but one of a hundred who had come 
into his life. But he was chief of the band, monarch 
of his survey. 

Nava was near the evening fire. A long line 
of shadows rocked back and forth before her, on 
her, like phantoms in ribald action. 

Tulane slipped up from the surrounding dark¬ 
ness and shouted in stentorian voice: “Fetch the 
horses! Hook the teams! We go now—Arizona, 
California, Mexico, on to the fiesta.” 

“Fool!” 


[ 223 ] 


WOLF MOON 


The lone word flung icily in his face chilled and 
then heated his soul. 

“Get ready I say you daughter of Pojar. We 
go, now, now! On! Pemella is dead. I lead the 
band. I go to Orizaba and speak for the tribe this 
winter. ’’ 

“My curse will- ” 

His answer was to glide snakelike toward her 
and dangle the ring in front of her startled eyes. 
The light from the campfire glinted on it until it 
assumed huge proportions. 

Nava gasped in dismay and painful surprise. 
Inwardly she blazed with indignation, but she must 
obey. With sluggish step she turned and shouted 
commands to the men. 

Tulane slipped through pools of water to Pem¬ 
ella’s tent. It was dark and the objects smelled 
damp. Queerly, he thought, the ring felt heavy 
upon his finger. He looked at the stone and 
rubbed it slowly, then vigorously. It seemed to 
light with a beautiful fire. Down in the body of 
the stone he could see eyes, big, black dilated orbs 
but they were dead. Tulane looked about him in 
fear, then clasped the ring between his hands as 
if to shut out the stare from the lifeless eyes. An 
uncontrollable impulse to run from this hideous 
thing sprang upon him. Rushing out to where the 
men were hitching the horses he urged them to 


[224 ] 



NEW BORN TO GREATNESS 


greater speed. He ordered his tent thrown and 
with jumbled paraphernalia the men clambered into 
the wagons, shouted to the horses, and the camp 
moved on. 

From the rim rock near the river’s edge Tulane 
looked back to where the campfire was sending 
sparks up through the wet leaves. Down in the 
gorge along the rocky footpiece of the hill Tulane 
saw two eyes gazing at him from the clump of 
trees long after the wagons had passed on through 
the shallow flats. With writhing feelings he opened 
his clasped hands and gazed at the wide golden 
band. The stone was dark but as he peered, there 
came stealing from the gloom, as stars through 
murky clouds, two eyes, glowing, filled with life. 
They were sad with no hint of malignant stare and 
as he gazed they grew livid, glassy, the same eyes 
that looked down from the cadaverous body hung 
in the rocky hollows of the mount. 

Across the river bed and on, the wagon train 
rattled, the wheels creaked, even until the gypsy 
children, huddled in ugly masses, fell asleep. On 
past the last clump of blackjacks where the night 
wind sang its requiem for the dead, the horses 
moved and on until the mesa lay peaceful under 
the spell of the moon. Nature spoke to break the 
silence and at times the husky, sleepy drawl of 
the drivers sounded harsh. Back in the trailer 

[ 225 ] 

8 


WOLF MOON 


van, a gypsy, new born to greatness, lay in dreamy 
seance. The shadow from Roundtop, now dim in 
the distance, seemed to follow in the wheeltracks 
of the caravan. A rocky jolt forced the man’s eye¬ 
lids open and he glanced back over the sage to 
where the mountain tapered gauntly to the sky and 
blotted out a million stars with its peaked cap. 
Two pinpoints of light grew into globes of fire and 
stood there, sad, sunken, jaundiced. Never dim¬ 
ming they glowed on through the night while the 
gypsy fought the groups of winged scorpions and 
spirits that laid his conscience bare. 

Louise turned but a fleeting glance toward Tu- 
lane as he dashed down the trail. While his actions 
puzzled her she was too busy devoting her attention 
to Jack to dwell upon them. Under her ministra¬ 
tions his eyes closed. A flash of regret min¬ 
gled with contentment came to her mind. She 
wanted to hear him speak for the sound of 
his voice thrilled her as if eternity had come nearer 
with him resting in her arms. The counter-current 
of satisfaction came from the realization that rest 
for his unstrung nerves was the salient craving of 
his physical being. 

Light left the sky; darkness fell. A rustle of 
air fragrant from the wet earth, came out of the 
west and died as suddenly as it was born. Misty 


[ 226 ] 


NEW BORN TO GREATNESS 


clouds floated in detached squadrons here and 
there, train bearers of the storm. The Indian stood 
picturesque by her side, his arms folded, as a spirit 
watching over the hush and calm of the world. 

“Do you know where the Circle H ranch is?” 
Louise inquired anxiously. 

“Me know long time,” he answered in monotone. 

“Well, that’s its light down there. See?” 

“Me no see light but me find ranch. Pony down 
there.” 

“Well hurry to the ranch and tell the boys to 
come for Jack and me.” 

The Indian disappeared down the trail. A 
little later Louise saw him in the dusk crossing to 
the south. It would be only a matter of a few 
minutes now until help would come. 

Jack’s announcement that Pemella had gone 
puzzled her. She would have liked to have ques¬ 
tioned him further but he seemed to be resting. 
His head against her breast awakened faint dreams 
within. It unlocked a store of thrills to be so close 
to the one whom she—she dare not mention it. 
Who was she anyway, to presume love from such 
a man as Jack and she in turn to love him ? After 
all she was only a waif risen from the rut of gypsy 
life, rescued from a slave pen of cruelty, of crushed 
despair, of stunted life. A product of sordid places 
and loved with the unquenchable love of an un- 


[ 227 ] 


WOLF MOON 


couth gypsy, dragged from city to desert, cursed, 
mistreated, she had ceased to hope for another life 
or another love. She had felt herself an unutter¬ 
able part of creation, one of its lowest order. She 
could not gaze upward for all the light had been 
shut out from above. Her part was to grovel, to 
crawl in abasement, at the feet of those to whom 
she owed even her miserable existence. Now, 
tonight, had come the answer to her questioning of 
years. Was she born just to suffer and die, could 
that be all? Was there no glimpse of Paradise 
on earth? Must one wait until the next life for 
even a shadow of happiness? Was there never to 
be spoken a kind word into her ears or her heart 
to throb under the wonderment of love? Must 
this strife and pang and pain within her breast 
forever endure until struck down in the dust or 
crushed by savage hands? Yes, the answer had 
come. It was created from the night’s silence 
closing in about her, from the throbbing heart of 
her lover pulsating against her side. Strong and 
full and free the answer came in her transport 
from agony and shame and filth to flowers and 
stars and peace. What was the answer to be 
divined from this heart roll thudding against her 
bosom, this fullness of life, this music wuthin her 
ears? It had come now and she knew. She was 
in love. 


[ 228 ] 


NEW BORN TO GREATNESS 


Louise could scarcely realize her situation, alone, 
above the world, with her beloved in her arms. 
Time stood still, the stars came closer in a body, 
as if a million witnesses to her happiness. It was 
all so quiet and lonesome up among the crags, 
among the scenes tragic and melodramatic. She 
felt it a glorious climax to a day of peril. In but 
a few short hours life seemed to have changed for 
her, she had been snatched from a burning hell to 
a paradise of peace. 

Now and then imperious voices of the gypsies 
below came floating up to her. She recognized 
the orders, the same old sharp commands of 
camp breaking. It was good to sit there in 
the starlight and know that the gypsies were 
going away, perhaps out of her life forever. 
She listened again—more intently. Then came 
to her the sounds of creaking wheels, the 
whinnying of horses on the start, guttural 
voices of the older gypsies and shrill cries of child¬ 
ren. Out beyond the grove moved the cavalcade, 
out and to the north, down through the river chan¬ 
nel swollen by the rain and across into the flats, 
until the caravan became silent and welded into 
the blue and brown where sky and mesa meet. 

Jack stirred and opened his eyes. 

“Louise.” 

“Yes, Jack.” 


[ 229 ] 


WOLF MOON 


“You always come when I need you most.’’ 

“Do you need me now Jack? Can I help you?” 

“Louise I’ll always need you. You came to me 
before when I wanted help. And now you’re here 
again, with me when I need to have you close. ’ ’ 

“I’m happy to be with you, always happy when 
I’m with you. Why, Jack, I want to be with you 
always.’ ’ 

“Do you really, Louise? I’m glad to hear you 
say that. I wasn’t ever sure that you cared.” 

“Jack I always cared. I cared weeks and weeks 
ago, even when I first met you. And then you 
saved my life, saved me from Pemella. But the 
gypsies have gone. They’re out there in the North 
now. ’ ’ 

“They couldn’t have gone without a chief. 
Tulane must have—must have taken hold, for 
Pemella’s dead.” 

“Dead, Jack?” 

“Yes, the lightning struck him down. He fell 
back over the cliff. He must be dead.” 

“Louise clasped his hand passionately. 

“Then there’s no one now but you—just you, 
Jack.” 

Jack started to raise himself to answer. But 
Louise held him close to her bosom. 

“Jack I’ll have you now to protect me always, 
won’t I?” 


[ 230 ] 


NEW BORN TO GREATNESS 


“Now and forever Louise.” His words echoed 
back and forth across the distance of her soul as 
she knelt closer to him and clasped him tightly 
to her breast. 

A loud haloo from the plains reached their ears. 

“Here come the boys,” Louise ejaculated ring- 
ingly. 

Louise returned the call. A few minutes later 
the riders, led by Buster Christian, came puffing 
up the slope. A shout of delight rose in chorus 
as they perceived Jack safe in Louise’s arms. 

“Jack, Jack, how are you?” Buster cried, spring¬ 
ing to his side. 

“Stunned a bit but raring to go.” 

“At-a-boy, Jack,” and as he looked across the 
short distance that separated Jack from Louise he 
saw the twinkle of happiness and contentment in 
Louise’s eyes. “Louise it’s great to see you safe 
and—happy. Why from the way the Indian talked 
you were both just hanging on.” 

Louise laughed softly. “Well, we both want 
to get back to the ranch. It seems ages since I’ve 
been there. ’ ’ 

“Well, the sooner the better. Mrs. Trichell is 
running up here afoot. John Trichell can’t hold 
her back.” 


r 23 i ] 


WOLF MOON 


Buster lifted Jack in his arms. Slowly in the 
darkness the group passed down and out upon the 
plain to the ponies. 

Near the bottom of the pass gray forms glided 
behind the rocks and watched the intruders pass. 
When they had gone they returned to snap and 
snarl and leap at the body held fast in the jutting 
rocks above. 


Chapter XVI. 


A SECRET OF THE PAST 

U'y' 

A he beginning and the end came at the same 
time,” replied Jack when Louise and the Trichells, 
in company with Buster Christian, after hearing 
him relate some of his experiences of the day before 
queried him the following evening about the fight 
at Roundtop. 

“Pemella was in the act of leaping toward me 
when a ball of fire came right out of the sky and 
glanced off his shoulder. It spread everywhere, 
on the rocks, trees, in the air. He seemed wrapped 
in a flame. Something like the blast from an open 
furnace rushed on me. All my nerves tingled. 
Pemella was swaying back and forth. Then with a 
loud cry he fell backward off the cliff. The flash 
of vivid light blinded me and I experienced a sen¬ 
sation as if I were being swung out into a pool 
of fire. That’s about all I remember until I 
awakened.” Jack looked recollectively up toward 


8 * 


[ 233 ] 



WOLF MOON 


Roundtop, where, hidden under a clump of trees, 
a fresh mound told its story. 

“But the best piece of news,” Jack brightened 
and continued, “is that Tulane has gone.” 

“Well, Jack, now that he’s gone we might as 
well tell you that he swore he would get you,” 
Buster spoke. 

“Yes? Well now that he’s gone I might as well 
tell you that he came mighty close to getting me. 
Do you remember the night of the stampede? Well, 
Tulane was the boy who shot me in the shoulder ? ’ ’ 

A cry of astonishment flew from their lips. 

“And you never said a word!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Trichell. “Jack, that’s just like you. If you had, 
the boys would have riddled him. But thank God 
he’s gone.” 

“And young lady,” counseled John Trichell, 
turning toward Louise. “Hereafter I believe it 
would be a good idea for you to stay at home and 
not snoop around gypsy camps.” 

“There won’t be much occasion to, hereafter,” 
put in Mrs. Trichell. “ Tulane’s going is a good 
riddance. By the way, Louise, was there any mail 
yesterday? I’m beginning to think that you’re a 
mighty poor mailman.” 

“Oh, yes, two letters for you and one for Jack. 
I left them in the mail pouch; I ’ll get them. ’ ’ 

“From Dad,” announced Jack in eagerness. 


[ 234 ] 


A SECRET OF THE PAST 


“Excuse me; I’ll read it. You won’t mind will 
you ? ’ ’ 

At times during the reading of the letter Jack’s 
eyes brightened. At the end he read aloud: 

“The Gallagers and Janet are to visit the 
Grand Canyon this summer. I have induced 
them to stop off at Terlton and I shall go along 
with them. We will leave here Sunday night 
and should arrive in Terlton by Wednesday. 
You probably know what time the Golden State 
stops there. I will be so glad to see you, but 
let me say that Janet has lost some of her sea¬ 
shore ardor. So don’t be disappointed’.” 

‘ ‘ Can you imagine that ? Dad thinks the Golden 
State Limited stops here regularly. If he can ar¬ 
range in Chicago to have it stop he’ll be lucky. 
Gee! but it will be great to see them all again. ’ ’ 
Later the same day Louise joined Jack upon the 
porch that swung around the side of the house. 
Jack’s head was throbbing not only from the stun¬ 
ning lightning flash but from wondering how his 
father would like Louise, what he would say when 
his eye fell upon her. How should he introduce 
Louise to him, explain her family? 

The appearance of Louise brought on a question. 
“Janet is the same girl you were telling me of 
recently, isn’t she?” 

‘ ‘ If you mean the one who has forgotten me, yes. 


[ 235 ] 


WOLF MOON 


You see what Dad says, ‘has lost some of her sea¬ 
shore ardor.’ How well Dad puts it. In other 
words, Jack old boy, you have dropped plumb out 
of her mind.” 

‘ ‘ Are you sure ? ’’ 

“Just as sure as a jack rabbit hops. There’s 
plenty of evidence. She hasn’t written me a line 
in a month. Does that look as if she’s running over 
with affection?” 

“But perhaps when she sees you again the old 
friendship will come back.” 

“Not when she takes a peep at you. You’ll 
startle her, really you will. She probably thinks 
the West as wild as in ’89 and that there’s nothing 
here but Indians and tepees. But you’ll like Janet 
even if she is a bit independent. Wouldn’t you 
call a girl who refused to answer your letters in¬ 
dependent ? ’ ’ 

“Rather. Jack I’m wondering if your father 
will want you to go back East with him.” She 
failed to cloak her grave concern. 

“Hardly, unless I’ve told him that I’ve won a 
fortune. After all that’s what I came West for, 
to win a fortune and I believe I’ve done that.” 

“When?” was Louise’s startled whisper. 

“Oh, in the last few months. Fortunes don’t 
always come out of the earth. Sometimes they 


[ 236 ] 


A SECRET OF THE PAST 


walk on top of the earth . 9 9 

“In the East, perhaps .* 9 

“No, in the west, in Oklahoma.” Leaving the 
intimation to Louise he continued, “But won’t I 
be glad to see Dad again and explain everything 
to him? I’ve told him all about you, or as much 
as I know, at least. But you will have to tell me 
all about yourself before Dad comes. If you 
don’t, how in the world can I explain your family 
to him?” 

To Louise came the resurgence of feeling that she 
had experienced once before when Jack had ques¬ 
tioned her about her family. In searching for an 
answer only an immense void met her straining 
mind. How she could piece together a reply from 
the fragments of broken memories, vague, indef¬ 
inite. Were she to lay bare her soul she could 
find no echo of the unknown early days. But she 
could equivocate no longer, she must cry out that 
her past was as nameless as the soft stirrings of 
her soul within. It would be running counter to 
her conscience to keep silent under it all. The 
only way left was to throw open her life and bow 
to the inevitable. There was shame, yes, but not 
the burning consciousness of wrong done. It clung 
to her from association. It could not be scored 
against her yet it was hers to fester and pain. 
Were some kind providence to whisper but one 


[ 237 ] 


WOLF MOON 


word—her name—within her ears she could rise 
and face the world. She would be transformed 
from a nameless urchin to high womanhood in a 
fleeting second. The stigma would fade under the 
light of knowledge. Louise was overcome with an 
eager desire to unburden her soul to Jack, to tell 
him her innermost secrets, to depend upon his un¬ 
derstanding, his friendship, perhaps his love, to 
see it all. Before she could again weigh the situ¬ 
ation she found herself speaking. 

“Jack the secret of my family went last night 
when the gypsies moved to the north.” 

“Why, what do you mean?” he asked, startled 
with the enigma. 

“I mean that the only person in the world who 
knows my family is Nava, the gypsy queen.” 

“Nava? How did she come to know?” 

11 She claims that I am a gypsy. ’ ’ 

“A gypsy?” gasped Jack, astounded. “You 
don’t believe that?” 

“No, I don’t, but Nava swears that I am. Jack, 
I have wanted to tell you a secret for a long time. 
I cannot withhold it any longer. I just couldn’t 
get up courage in the past to tell you. In the 
first place I didn’t know just how you would 
accept it. Again, I really never knew if you 
cared. It’s this: I lived with that gypsy band 
for years, ever since I can remember. I worked 


[ 238 ] 


A SECRET OF THE PAST 


for them, slaved for them, wandered everywhere 
from California to Tennessee. Sometimes we fol¬ 
lowed the edge of the desert for months, later we 
came to the hills and mountains. They called me 
Bluebonnet after the Texas flower because they 
said I was born in Texas. Nava claims that Ras- 
boi was my father and Lodhka my mother. Lodh- 
ka died when I was very small. I remember they 
buried her out between two big mountains and 
they never went back.” 

“Who is this Nava?” 

“She is the gypsy queen—the same one you 
met in camp. She beat me until it grew unbear¬ 
able. She would lumber into my tent in the 
morning, drag me off the cot and throw me on 
the ground. My screaming awoke the gypsies. 
She continued this every day of my life even 
until the end. Jack, it was perfect misery. I 
grew moody, anemic, despaired of all hope. What 
was there to live for? Filth, abominable filth, 
everywhere. But the most dreadful thing of all 
was that I was marked to marry Pemella.” 

“To marry that brute?” Jack demanded, explo¬ 
sively. 

“Yes; to marry him; that was his command. 
But on the evening of his return from Arizona 
when we lay further out in the Panhandle, I ran 
away. It was the night that I was to marry him. 


[ 239 ] 


WOLF MOON 


A moment after he arrived he walked into Nava’s 
tent and I heard him quarreling with her. I 
slipped away and ran, ran, ran. It was dark and 
raining but I knew just about where the railway 
tracks were. I thought if I reached the station 
there might be a chance of someone helping me. 
I was really desperate. There was a freight train 
standing in the distance and I ran toward it. 
The appearance of a brakeman forced me to pull 
myself into one of the cars. Just as I did it 
started and I later fell asleep. When I awoke it 
was daylight and the train had stopped. I looked 
out of the car and there was a rider who later 
proved to be Tulane. I was frightened at first 
glance for I thought he was Pemella. He brought 
me here to the Trichell’s. So that’s how I came 
to be here.” 

“Well, now this is thrilling. But didn’t you 
ever ask the gypsies who you were; your family 
history?” 

“Yes, a hundred times, but Nava would get 
down like a witch and hiss, ‘You’re a gypsy. Your 
father was Rasboi, your mother Lodhka.’ Then 
she would strike me or spit in my face but it 
never stopped me from asking the question be¬ 
cause I felt I was not a gypsy for the simple rea¬ 
son that I was different from the other children.” 


[ 240 ] 


A SECRET OF THE PAST 


“But they stole you when you were young from 
some American family/’ Jack spoke his surmise. 

“They stole other children,” Louise answered 
directly. “At least they stole Nadina at Denver.’’ 

‘ ‘ But don’t you think they stole you ? Haven’t 
you a reason to believe that you were kid¬ 
napped?” 

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. I have a haunt¬ 
ing memory of a cotton field and of a mother. 
She always appeared to me in my day dreams 
with the same smile, always so sweet and tender. 
I never dared mention this to Nava although at 
times I was sorely tempted. These dreams always 
appeared to me when I was tired and lonely and 
they comforted me. I would slip off into the 
groves or thickets until Nava called my name 
again and again. Yet in the end they tortured 
my soul. I had no one to turn to, nor confide in. 
Why, for weeks and weeks when crossing Arizona 
or New Mexico, we rarely saw a soul. Just a 
cowboy or Indian in the distance and they looked 
upon us—those Mexicans and Indians—as beg¬ 
gars. They often set fire to the fields in which 
we were camped just to get rid of us. They sus¬ 
pected us of stealing horses, children, anything 
we set our hands on. Then we would move on 
for weeks through the Southwest, nothing in 
sight but mesquites with big rattlesnakes coiled 


[241] 


WOLF MOON 


around the roots. I was always glad to see the 
mountains for from a distance I fed my soul on 
their snows. It was cool near the mountains while 
down in the desert it was hot, hot always. You 
know how the land bakes and cracks in Oklaho¬ 
ma; well it’s worse further west. There was abso¬ 
lutely nothing to brighten my life except the 
magazines that Pemella brought me. You see he 
taught me to read and write in English so that 
we could talk without being understood by Nava. 
But no matter where we wandered my big obsess¬ 
ing thought was that I was different from the 
gypsies—that I was an American.” 

“So you never found out who your parents 
were?” There was a disconsolate tone to his voice. 

“No, Jack, I haven’t the slightest idea. I had 
no source of information. At the gypsy camp it 
was only Rasboi and Lodhka. I heard those 
two names ever since I can remember. Rasboi 
couldn’t possibly have been my father. He was 
darker than the darkest Mexican. And Lodhka 
could not-” 

‘ ‘ Of course she could not have been your mother. 
Louise, your parents are American and some day 
you will know all. By the way do you ever pray 
to find them?” 

Louise shook her head. She had seen churches 
on her travels, adobe chapels on the plains or 


[242 ] 



A SECRET OF THE PAST 


along the mountain roads, little ones surmounted 
by crosses whose meaning she had never surmised. 
She never remembered having prayed until she 
met the Trichells. The gypsies of course had their 
Supreme Being but prayer seldom crept into their 
lives. But the Trichells taught her to pray and 
gave her a little catechism to study. They went 
to church themselves seldom for the simple reason 
that their mission was attended every few months 
only bj' the resident pastor from Guymon. 

“Well, you just wait until Dad comes. He’s 
a stickler for prayer. He declares that nothing in 
the world can beat it and I guess the governor’s 
right there. You’ve got to promise me this evening 
that you’ll say some prayers that you may receive 
information about your family. Will you promise 
me, Louise?” 

“Jack, I will promise you anything for I realize 
you know best. If I could only tell you my name 
I would be the happiest person in the world. But 
you must help me find my parents, too. Promise 
me?” Her plea came from the great desire that 
burned within her, the desire to know from whom 
she sprang, their name and her name. 

“Willingly. Now when Dad comes I’ll just say, 
‘Dad this is Louise,’ and he’ll place his arm around 
you like this.” Jack caught Louise to him and 


[ 243 ] 


WOLF MOON 


pressed her close. Louise experienced a feeling of 
protection, a sense of being possessed, which sur¬ 
rendered only to her will rising to find a way to 
display her love. 

“Two more days and they’ll be here. Great 
guns, if you had kept the letter in the mail pouch 
much longer they would have come walking up 
under the trees and surprised us.” 

From the porch Jack and Louise watched the 
sun shadows move majestically up the sides of 
Roundtop. A mass of gossamer clouds hung sus¬ 
pended above the crest and moved in circles and 
eddies through pools of purple and salmon. Doves 
began their calling from the cottonwoods. The 
brown stretch of mesa in the east became hazy 
under the gold-shot distance and then sank into twi¬ 
light. The horizon filled with color and came closer 
as night started to settle. Jack and Louise whis¬ 
pered to each other as the trees stirred under the 
first breath of evening wind. It was trysting hour 
filled with the lonesome voices of nature, sad and 
funereal. Interpreted by the two loving hearts 
the sounds were sweetly mellow like chimes from 
far-off belfrys. 


[ 244 1 


Chapter XVII. 


THE TWILIGHT SERENADE 

I T was an unusual sight to see the Golden State 
Limited come to a full stop at Terlton. It threw 
on its brakes far up near the river bridge and 
coasted toward the little red station slumbering 
in the sunshine. The iron shoes screeched, the air 
Whistle screamed and with a loud mechanical sigh 
the coaches came to a stop. Far down the train 
a porter appeared in white duck coat. Then fol¬ 
lowed Mr. Corcoran, the Gallaghers and Janet. 

Jack broke into a run and reached his father. 

“ Hello, Jack, my boy. My but you have broad¬ 
ened out and you’re looking splendid. See whom 
I have with me, Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher and 
Janet.” 

Jack greeted them all warmly but as his eye 
fell upon Janet a shadow of disappointment cros¬ 
sed his brow. Her face was drawn and she seemed 
to grow older as he looked. Perhaps it was the 
long trip that made her appear fatigued. 


[ 245 ] 



WOLF MOON 


Welcoming them to the west with a sweep of his 
bronzed arm Jack said: 

“It surely is wonderful to see you all out here. 
You’ll like this country; it’s great.” 

“Jack you look worlds bigger and you’re as 
brown as coffee. No wonder! Feel how hot this 
sun is. Jack do you really like this awful country ? 
There’s nothing here but sand and rocks, why 
there’s not a tree in sight,” Janet complained with 
a frown. 

“This is the best country in the world,” Jack 
countered cheerfully. “But you have to live here 
to appreciate it. Let’s go up to the station. The 
Trichells and Louise came with me to meet you.” 

Down the cinder walk of the station the trio 
was approaching. John Trichell had insisted that 
he be there to meet Jack’s father. He urged it 
so strongly that he was carried to the station in 
his wheel chair. 

“Dad, the Trichells are just wild to meet you. 
They really have been dandy to me ever since I 
came, treated me like a prince.” 

John Corcoran was peering closely at the couple. 
The Gallaghers said something to each other about 
frontier life and pioneer country. Janet waved 
goodbye to a new friend as the last Pullman car 
went slowly by. 


[ 246 ] 


THE TWILIGHT SERENADE 


The smile that appeared on the face of John 
Trichell vanished. The elder Corcoran stopped 
in his tracks with eyebrows narrowed, his expres¬ 
sion piercing, amazed. He observed the color leave 
the face of the man in the wheel chair then return 
suddenly in full flush. His jaw lowered, his mouth 
dropped open. He was the picture of utter as¬ 
tonishment. A strange feeling rushed over him, 
the blood mounted to his brain and his temples 
throbbed. 

Jack observed the wonderment and surprise and 
something about it all startled him. Before he 
could speak a word of introduction his father 
rushed forward. 

‘ ‘ John Tipton! as I live, and Margaret Tipton! ’ ’ 
He clasped the hand of each feverishly, beyond 
his staid self. “And Joey! Isn’t this perfectly 
wonderful? Janet come here and meet your sister 
J oey. ’ ’ 

The Trichells looked at each other in consterna¬ 
tion, their faces blank as Janet and Louise em¬ 
braced; the unreality of the situation flashed to 
them. A cry of surprise was about to break forth 
from Mrs. Trichell but she suppressed the shock 
that was shaking her frame. She wanted to protest 
against this seeming untruth, then at graver 
thought she conquered. 


[ 247 ] 


WOLF MOON 


Jack observed the fight that was taking place 
within them. He was in a qnandry. A thousand 
questions rushed to his mind, bleared his senses 
confusedly. But a hasty analysis urged him to 
wait. The situation would explain itself. 

“Joey, my! my! my! what a wonderful girl you 
are. And just think, I have not seen you for 
fifteen years. Jack, you surely have staged a 
wbnderful surprise. I feel this is the happiest day 
of my life. ’ ? 

“But Mr. Corcoran you never told me Joey was 
here in Oklahoma, here with Jack,’” Janet hur¬ 
ried to protest. 

‘ ‘ Only because I never knew. Now I understand 
why Jack wanted me to come West to see him. Not 
to see him altogether but to meet Joey.” 

Louise stood with flashing currents of surprise 
and consternation rushing through her brain. She, 
too, was puzzled at the meeting, the words of Mr. 
Corcoran, the confusion of the Trichells, at Jack’s 
drawn brows and puzzled appearance. 

“Oh, I’m so happy John to see you, to find you 
all so safe and well. And I’m thankful that I have 
found Joey. It is so good to be here today.” 

“Let’s get in out of the sun father,” Jack sug¬ 
gested, hoping a spell would clear the situation. 
“Or better yet, let’s move on to the ranch and 


[ 248 ] 


THE TWILIGHT SERENADE 


then we can talk to onr heart’s content. There’s 
so much to talk about.” 

“And explain,” added Senior Corcoran. 

“Yes, explain,” repeated John Trichell. 

* «= # 

Mrs. Trichell set the table under the cottonwoods 
that evening. A soft breeze sprang from the 
South as the sun touched the horizon and exploded 
into color. 

11 How wonderful to be here, ’ ’ the elder Corcoran 
continued to repeat. Just look at that mountain 
up there and those endless plains. This is where 
men really live.” 

“Right you are Dad. Out here is where the 
world gets large. Men know each other here.” 

“Yes but at times strangers come to us whom 
we do not know,” and then catching the reflection 
upon Louise he added, “as for instance Tulane.” 
It was John Trichell speaking. 

“Who is Tulane?” asked Senior Corcoran, in¬ 
terested. 

“Just a gypsy, Dad. He was a rider for Mrs. 
Trichell but he left recently.” 

“There have been stirring times here since Jack 
came. Has he told you all about them?” asked the 
ranch owmer, as he leaned toward his old friend. 

“No, not a word. He just intimated that he 


[ 249 ] 


WOLF MOON 


liked the west and declared with emphasis that he 
liked you all.” 

“But there had been stranger things before 
Jack came. In fact ever since I left the East.” 

There was profound, piercing silence. During 
the pause the shadows lengthened and the day 
bloom was swallowed in the zenith. The earth 
gave up its heat to the cooling breeze and lay 
tranquil under the light of the candles of far-off 
worlds. A mocking bird perched on a post near 
the ranchhouse poured out its tremulous song to 
the new-born night and was answered from close 
by. Far down the mesa a rider disappeared into 
the gloom, whistling as he rode. A group of cow¬ 
boys leaned on the corral fence and jested about 
their ponies, who glanced at them suspiciously, 
ready in a moment to rim-mill from their ropes. 

“Fifteen years ago I left Georgia, John, fifteen 
years ago.” The speaker began as if lifting a 
weight from his breast. “In a way I’m sorry 
that I left. In another I’m not. You advised me 
not to leave until cotton picking was over I re¬ 
member, but that offer from Chicago enticed me. 
Then I was tired of plantation life although I 
was young and had no reason to be. We took 
along Joey, little Josephine Hathaway. Like many 
distant offers this one in Chicago did not pan out 
well. I left and went to St. Louis looking for 


[ 250 ] 


THE TWILIGHT SERENADE 


employment. Then Margaret received a letter 
one morning from old Robert Cotton. He had 
come here to Oklahoma in the early nineties 
in fact when they opened np this No Man’s Land. 
He staked out land here, made money, but Cotton 
was old. He originally came from the East and 
like many Oklahomans when they make their 
fortune they want to go back to their native 
state. He said in his letter that he would let me 
run the ranch and as I built it up I could repay 
him. The offer was a fair one and I accepted it. 
We started for Oklahoma but when near the line 
we happened to strike the wrong route and we 
were forced to take a stage to cut across the 
country. A sandstorm came up that night, one 
of those dense summer storms, and the driver 
declared he could go no farther until it blew over. 
We were moored on the plains and were forced 
to spend the night in the stage coach. There was 
an Indian or gypsy in that coach whom we saw 
but once and never saw again. He looked part 
Mexican. We never knew just who he was, but 
we do know that next morning he was gone and 
so was Joey. Her sudden disappearance mysti¬ 
fied us. We searched weeks for her everywhere, 
went into the surrounding towns. Then one day 
a boy handed us a letter saying that if we deposit¬ 
ed $5,000 in the bank at Phoenix, Arizona in the 


[ 251 ] 


WOLF 


MOON 


name of Pete Gander the child would be delivered 
to us the following day. Well, in the first place 
we didn’t have the money and a few days later 
we heard the rumor that the letter was written 
by a scheming Kansan who had heard of our 
plight and was so base as to try to obtain money 
from us without having the child to deliver. Yes, 
John, you marvel at such low deals but this west¬ 
ern country was filled with the most lawless de¬ 
generates. In the end we had to give up search¬ 
ing for Joey, there was no trace, no trace. 

“How terrible!” gasped Senior Corcoran. 

“Yes, it was terrible. It upset our lives to put 
it lightly. That is why I never wrote to you. I 
was ashamed to confess the truth, knowing of 
your love for both the Hathaway children. It 
literally broke us to pieces. When Cotton left, 
which he did shortly after our arrival, I changed 
my name to Trichell. I wanted to start all over. 
Well, we both worked hard through the hot suns 
of summer and the biting Northers. John, I tell 
you it was a struggle. Times were different then. 
We had rustlers and bad men to contend with. 
There were horse thieves and robbers of every 
description. At times it seemed that every out¬ 
law in the country came to this county. But we 
Avon out. I built up the ranch to 2,500 head and 
paid off Cotton besides. 


[ 252 1 


THE TWILIGHT SERENADE 


“Then one Autumn day two years ago a stran¬ 
ger came to our ranch. She had escaped from a 
gypsy camp. Margaret declared she looked like 
Joey. But I dismissed the idea for her hair was 
lighter and her face seemed darker than Joey’s. 
However, Margaret insisted that it was and even 
went so far as to write to you in Georgia but as 
we had not corresponded with you for so many 
years her chances to get in touch with you were 
slim. Our letters were returned. 

“Margaret and I often considered telling 
Louise, as we named her and which name she 
agreed to, about Joey, our lost child. But I al¬ 
ways thought it would be better to wait. The 
Lord is patient and I felt sure that all would 
come out right in the end. We hated to tell her 
and later have her claimed by some family who 
could positively identify Iier. But nevertheless, 
Margaret always felt that she was Joey Hatha¬ 
way. 

“Then another stranger came to our gates or 
at least to Christian’s ranch—that’s across the 
way. Buster Christian brought him to the West 
from the oil fields. When I heard the name of 
Corcoran and that he was from the East I imme¬ 
diately thought of you, John. Margaret asked 
Jack how long he had been living in Philadelphia. 
He said, “As long as I can remember.’ Our hopes 


[ 253 ] 


WOLF MOON 


fell. Similarity in names only was how I ex¬ 
plained it. 

“Then came the news of you coming 1 here to 
visit Jack. I was glad, mighty glad, for I wanted 
to meet his father. But I never dreamt that it 
would be you. When I saw you—well, John, 
fifteen years makes a difference in men at our 
age of life. We recognized each other, of course, 
but the unexpectancy of the meeting confused 
us.” 

“But I recognized Joey at a glance,” inter¬ 
rupted Senior Corcoran with emphasis. “Those 
blue eyes, why even the same expression of her 

father, but-” a gush of disappointment swept 

upon him, “well maybe I did associate her with 
you, John.” 

Suddenly the speaker acted as if some turmoil 
was taking place within his mind. He brushed 
his forehead with his palm and with concern out¬ 
lined upon his face bent over toward Louise. A 
question had come to his lips and he must have 
an answer. Without a word he reached for her 
hand. 

Louise was almost prompted to withdraw it 
under his close scrutiny, his unexplained action. 
But she only marvelled and remained speechless. 

A moment later John Corcoran stiffened to a 
higher posture and nodded his head as if con- 


[ 254 ] 



THE TWILIGHT SERENADE 


firming some past surmise. Then to the party 
who had watched him as eagerly as he had 
scrutinized her hand, he announced: 

“Joey Hathaway! I had no doubt. Take a 
look at this right hand.” Between the index 
and middle finger was a small brown spot slightly 
larger than a pin head. “See this little mole. 
The nurse at the hospital where you were born 
jokingly said that this would serve as an excellent 
identification mark. Her words came true. You 
are Joey Hathaway. But I never doubted it a 
moment. ’ ’ 

“Think of it, Fm Joey Hathaway. Oh, I’m 
so happy,” burst out the girl. “Can it really be 
possible? This is my dream come true. I have 
yearned and longed and hoped for my real name 
so long. Isn’t it wonderful for all of, us to be 
together again?” As Joey paused all eyes were 
set on her undergoing her happiness. “This is 
really the happiest moment of my life. I always 
felt that I was an American but those old gypsies 
always told me I was the daughter of Rasboi and 
Lodhka. But I’ve always had in my memory a 
picture of walking in a field of cotton and a kind¬ 
faced woman smiling sweetly down upon me.” 

“That memory came from Georgia. That was 
when your parents were living. Of course you 


[ 255 ] 


WOLF MOON 


don’t recall when you were first adopted by John 
and Margaret here,” explained Senior Corcoran. 
'Then turning to the latter he continued: 

‘ ‘ Oh, I see it all now quite clearly. I understand 
why I never heard from you or why Joey never 
came back. The years had covered it all up from 
my unseeing eyes. But I hoped and prayed al¬ 
ways. Those years were unhappy ones for me but 
not filled with the sadness of yours for I had Jack 
to comfort me while your child was lost. Now 
we come together again out here in this country, 
one big happy family. Jack I see now why you 
love the West with that sweep of prairie and those 
stars, look how large and luminous they are. Then, 
too, Jack you have another reason for loving this 
Western country,” he added with merriment. And 
before the smiles had subsided he added. “But 
tell me what are your plans for the future?” 

“His plans are, John, that he’s going to stay 
here and direct the ranch for me.” 

4 ‘ Who me ? Not on your life. I’m not capable, ’ ’ 
and he meant the words as he looked directly at 
John Trichell. 

“The most capable man in the West,” came the 
compliment in return. 

“Well, I’m delighted John. I’m glad to know 
you have so much confidence in my son. But 


[ 256 ] 


THE TWILIGHT SERENADE 


would it be possible for me to purchase a part of 
it for him, say a quarter?” 

“Purchase it? Why I’m going to give him 
exactly one third and start him in beef. You 
don’t realize that if it wasn’t for Jack a third of 
my head of cattle would have been driven off to 
Texas. That was a thrilling night, too. It’s worth 
recalling. Jack tell them all about it.” 

Over near the bunk house sounds of laughter 
rang out on the evening air. A whinny from 
the ponies pealed sharply. Twilight crept down 
between the spreading limbs of the cottonwoods. 
Far off in the distance a train moaned sadly, puff¬ 
ing on its way back to Kansas and the North. 
Curling blue smoke arose from lighted cigars and 
was wafted by a soft breeze that sent cotton bloom 
floating. The tiny sounds of the insect world, 
warmed into slumber by the sun, now awakened 
into harmony. Janet and Joey turned toward the 
Gulch, the long valley in the west, of which Jack 
was speaking. His father leaned forward to catch 
every word as it fell from his son’s lips. 

From off the mesa came a sharp yelp of coyote 
to be followed by another to the North. Janet 
seemed to huddle in fear, a soul estranged to the 
wild things of the night. To Joey it was musical, 
homelike. Stars shone down through the lattice- 
work of catalpa leaves. A loud puff of wind stirred 


9 


[257 ] 


WOLF MOON 


the branches overhead and blew tendrils of hair 
across Joey’s face. Night came upon the plains, 
bringing a strange, weird setting for the denoue¬ 
ment of Jack’s story. 

Then came a long roll, a wolf call from some¬ 
where out on the plain. It was the twilight sere¬ 
nade, the wolf’s good evening to the silver orb that 
threw its light down between the rocks and crags 
of Navajo Gulch. It broke in on Jack’s story, 
weaving itself around his words, as music does a 
song. It was primitive, ancient, the same voice 
that sounded from the grassy swells when the buf¬ 
falo herds moved on their migrations, taken up now 
by gray creatures that sat alone and gave out 
their message to the hearkening plains. And it 
continued long after Jack’s story was ended and 
his hearers went to bed to listen to the soft flare 
of the leaves under the breathing of the night. 


[ 258 ] 


Chapter XVIII. 


EARTH OLD YET EVER NEW 

Out toward Navajo Gulch two riders moved into 
the sunshot western horizon. Mrs. Trichell watched 
them until the gold filtered down on the plains 
and filled the air with a haze. She turned to her 
husband and remarked: 

“My, my, what a wonderful change. Out of 
the sorrow of the past has come joy for us all. 
It was just heavenly to see that happy expression 
on John Corcoran's face when he bade us all 
good bye. I really believe he wanted us to go to 
the Grand Canyon with them.” 

“Yes, John hasn't changed much in all those 
years. He was always that way, good-hearted and 
considerate. But I'm glad that everything has 
been cleared up, glad for Joey’s sake.” 

“Yes, indeed, Jack is happy too, I know. It 
was such a surprise to Jack to discover that Joey 
is Janet’s sister. Janet is a splendid girl but I 
don't believe the West suits her. She never ap- 


[ 259 ] 



WOLF MOON 


peared very much at home. Her thoughts seemed 
to be of the East all the time.” 

4 ‘Jack saw that, too.” 

“Yes and Janet noticed his love for Joey,” Mrs. 
Trichell added. 

‘ ‘ It was very evident. I heard her say something 
to Jack about a palmist’s words coming true and 
that she was glad the girl was her sister. John 
Corcoran, too, was not slow to see Jack’s affection 
for Louise, but he seemed to be pleased with the 
knowledge and when he said, ‘take good care of 
Joey and Jack,’ I observed that twinkle. Hid 
you?” 

“Yes, I did. But as you said John hasn’t 
changed much. The fact that he made Jack prom¬ 
ise to bring Singing-in-the-Rain to this ranch and 
make him happy the remainder of his life as a 
reward for saving Joey shows that he is just as 
solicitous as ever about the welfare of others.” 

The couple turned and gazed toward the Gulch 
to see Joey and Jack silhouetted against a cloud 
bank of maroon. The couple watched them until 
the dusk threw its haze across the plains and ac¬ 
centuated the rosy nuance that swept the sky. 

Over at the Gulch twilight came down early. 
The evening air was motionless, warm, intrusive. 
Occasionally it flared and rustled in the blackjacks. 


[ 260 ] 


EARTH OLD YET EVER NEW 


Joey and Jack dismounted and led Thunderbird 
and Satellite to the rim of the Gulch. Down below 
a mist was rising laden with the odor of rank 
weeds still moist from the recent rains. It was a 
night of mystery and hush, of calmness and peace, 
one in which hearts opened in exquisite sensibility, 
one that brought fine thoughts and sweet senti¬ 
ments trooping from the soul. 

“Wasn’t it Shakespeare who wrote the shortest 
sentence in the English Language when he said, 
‘Sit Jessica?’ Well I’ll say ‘Sit Joey!—Joey 
Hathaway ’. ’ ’ 

“Oh, Jack it sounds just wonderful to hear you 
call me Joey Hathaway. It’s heavenly to know 
my name when for so many years it has been a 
mystery to me.” 

“Yes, it is Joey. And just think! You and I 
knew each other in Georgia a long time ago. What 
marvellous things have happened since that time. 
I came West to seek a fortune and my fortune was 
you. But father always declared his prayers 
would be answered. He prayed unceasingly to the 
Little Flower. And you see he was rewarded, my 
footsteps were directed to come here to you.” 

“Oh, I’m so thankful. I owe my name to you. 
Why I almost owe my life for it will be the re¬ 
making of me.” 


[261] 


WOLF MOON 


“Your name and your life. My but that’s ex¬ 
aggeration. I did nothing. You had your name 
and you have your life.” 

“Oh, but I mean life in the higher sense. Not 
just nameless existence. Not a creature who has 
no past, no present, no future.” 

Jack felt a desire come over him to swoop up 
this creature in his arms, to kiss her face, her 
hands. She was like a being from an empyrean, 
one that descended to sit beside him in the dusk 
and lead his soul upward. He placed his arm 
around her and drew her close. A brooding silence 
seemed to stop time, suspend all the animation of 
the plains, the trees, the living creatures. The 
blue porcelain lid of the sky appeared to fit 
snugly over the Gulch and the plains alone. The 
evening star, too, was like a minute opening in 
the sky bowl through which one could peep at the 
golden eternity beyond. Somewhere down in the 
Gulch a tree stirred, a night bird flew screaming 
by, breaking silence with weirdness. 

Jack turned and looked at the girl who sat so 
close beside him. She was gazing out over the 
Gulch, her eyes filled with a light that thrilled 
him. For a moment he studied her face, the reg¬ 
ular features, the tan through which bloomed the 
mark of perfect health, the wisp of golden-brown 
hair straggling over her temples. As he watched 


[ 262 1 


EARTH OLD YET EVER NEW 


he contemplated her soul that ran the gamut of 
womanly qualities until it soared unto the highest 
—purity, an attribute that he had worshipped 
since he had been old enough to know the difference 
between right and wrong. 

“Name and life,” mused Jack. “That’s about 
all one has in this world. It comprises existence. ’ ’ 

“But a little while ago I lacked both. I had 
a name it’s true, but it was not my own. I had 
a life also but it was so distorted and twisted that 
it was bare existence.” 

“And now you have both. Are you really and 
truly happy?” 

“I’m happy, Jack, because you have brought 
back my name and have changed my life.” 

* ‘ But you must remember that in helping do that 
I have done something else.” 

“What is that?” 

“Fallen in love with you.” 

The words seemed to hang on his lips. A 
sudden rush of night that made the stars shine 
more brightly shot before his eyes as if some great 
curtain were lowered. 

Out in the distance a star fell from its moorings 
blazing a trail of light across the sky. Jack looked 
up, his gaze momentarily lost in the Heavens. 
Louise was whispering, “Jack! Jack!” 

“Yes, Joey.” 


[ 263 ] 


WOLF MOON 


“Love has come to me, too.” 

Her words swelled and died like music. He 
placed his cheek to hers and said: 

“Joey are you miner’ 

“Yours forever, Jack.” It was unconditional 
surrender. 

‘ ‘ Then can I give you a new name, a new life ? ’ ’ 

Her answer was to place her head upon his 
breast. Eternity approached in a wide full sweep 
that caught them both in its embrace. Jack closed 
his eyes in a new found happiness. When he 
opened them a light was tipping the blackjacks. 
The moon had risen. 

Over from the slopes of the western side of the 
Gulch came a long roll that rose and died and 
then rose and surged again over the plains. Joey 
and Jack looked back to see the moon climbing 
over the cottonwood grove of the ranch. Another 
roll, a deep one, pealed out slowly. Then appeared 
on the western rim a lone wolf. It threw its voice 
to the new born moon, to the stars, staid and 
shooting, to the universe. 

“Wolf Moon,” broke out Jack softly. 

“Wolf Moon is February, Jack,” Joey whispered 
in correction. 

“February for the Indians and Gypsies but 
Wolf Moon for us. It’s the moon of love and 
happiness. ’ ’ 


[264 ] 


EARTH OLD YET EVER NEW 


“Then it’s Wolf Moon, Jack.” 

The voice of love, earth old yet ever new, beau¬ 
tiful, sublime, transporting, came to their listening 
ears from the leaf harps of the trees and found a 
response in their throbbing hearts. It brought their 
lips together as naturally as twilight meets the 
night. And as they reigned king and queen of the 
new born paradise the valley at their feet rang 
with a tremulous voice thrown out to the stars, the 
heavens and the world of shadows and phantoms 
of the night. 


THE END 


I. 265 | 


















































































































































































































































































































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